On the Run, The Quest's Begun
by AwakeningAngels
Summary: Four orphans, all admitted at a young age after witnessing traumatizing events in their lives, escape from the Charles Holmes Orphanage in 2002, out to get revenge for everything they lost or could've had. AU. Klaine/Brittana, some Blaintana friendship. Rated M for violence, language, and sex. Warning: may be rape and homicide triggers - I believe.
1. Part 1a

**Chapter One – The Past Is History**

**Date: October 9****th****, 2002**

**City, State: Lima, OH**

**Time: 10:13 p.m.**

**Location: Ohio State Police Department**

* * *

"Officer Newberry!"

Concern was written all over the white man's face. The healthy, well-fit guy had a clasp envelope in his hands, all containing newfound information.

A husky male sat at his desk in an office center near the west wing of the building. Chief of the whole state, to be precise. He shot back all seriousness at his fellow cop approaching him with the next report.

The old, obese man retrieved the envelope from the unknown cop and read the contents inside. Inside the envelope contained signed documents from a local orphanage, and four pictures of known orphans that lived there for the past couple of years.

"Miss Elizabeth Callie called in, reporting four children missing from her orphanage. She hasn't seen them in about three or four days."

Each picture from the clasp envelope – and the orphanage documents that accompanied them – all told a different story.

* * *

Image #1: Blaine Anderson. Birth date: April 4th, 1994. Height: 3'11". Admission: January 15th, 1999.

The first picture was of a young boy with fuzzy, curly hair. He displayed many anger emotions judging by the look of his face. His fists were balled up behind his back, looking up at the unknown photographer, expressing many feelings of acrimony and stimulation.

When he was first brought to the orphanage, it was hard for him to get a word out to the orphanage owner. He had gone through three to five different doctors, and about four cops, all trying to record information on what the boy saw and heard, and how he felt. He never spoke to the adults, nor the children of the orphanage. All he did was stay in the boys' bedroom, eating granola bars, and drawing random pictures all in black and yellow.

One of the orphanage mothers, Miss Alyssa Harriman, caught him drawing one day. She intended on getting him out of the room to see a family that just came in and asked about the black-haired boy. She interrogated him on the drawings he had before him. The picture she saw was of a boy with a bow and arrow in his hands. He's out in the nighttime, and weirdly-sketched mammals were dead by a tree.

Alyssa assumed that they were wolves and foxes, but she had something suspicious about what she saw hiding in the back of her mind. She ended up calling a therapist, and he came in to speak with Blaine.

The boy – now ten years old – had been physically, mentally, and emotionally defenseless for the past few years of his life. Back when he was only four years old, he had been living with his parents and his older brother, Cooper in another city in Ohio.

The last home they lived in got caught in a fire by a trio of robbers that tried to break in and steal two hundred dollars from the boy's father's safe. The whole kitchen, bathroom on the first floor, and the entrance to the basement had all been burnt. The robbers even managed to make it to the attic and burn their antiques.

Mrs. Anderson didn't feel comfortable living in the neighborhood, with evidence of the robbers breaking in and burning their home. She immediately searched for houses outside of this neighborhood; outside of this city – heck, even outside this state. The found a two-story house located in Lima, Ohio. The whole family took a little road trip all the way down and placed their furniture and valuables inside.

The family's two sons attended Northern Bridge Elementary School. Cooper, the oldest son, first encounters a boy named Max. The husky redhead spent the first two and a half weeks with Cooper.

When they developed a comfortable relationship, they made a bet during a game of solitaire, which Max's father taught him sometime last year. Cooper placed a thirty-dollar bet on winning against Max's twenty-five. Fake money from used board games were involved. In order to win, one of the players had to win three out of five games. What Cooper didn't know was that Max was planning on having Cooper converting the fake money into real money once he loses.

Cooper ended up losing at the end of the day, handing the husky redhead the fake money he owed. Max expected him to pay the real money.

Unfortunately, it had been two days since Cooper has even spoken about the bet. Mr. Anderson was confronted by Max's father. He was uncertain about the bet Cooper and Max had, nor believed he owed anything to anyone. So he and his son forgot about the whole thing.

Twenty-four hours later, Cooper and Blaine had already been tucked in for bed, and both parents were up paying bills for lighting, water, heat, and gas. Four loud bangs came from the front door, and Mrs. Anderson went to answer it. Turned out that Max's father was a gang member. He grabbed the petite, black-haired woman by the shirt collar, demanding his money. She gave no answer, but just panicked and begged him to let go.

Too bad for Mrs. Anderson, because her neck was slit open with a small pocket knife. Her body was thrown towards the side where Max's father stabbed the woman twenty-four times in the chest. Her corpse let out traces of blood. She choked out some of it, and the cut in her neck was quite deep. The blood even got in the husky man's rosy-cheeked face.

Followed by him were two other gang members. They busted into the living room, holding Mr. Anderson's arms down. Max's father held a gun up to his face, warning him that he had twenty seconds to get the money to him before he shot his face off. Mr. Anderson explained that Cooper gave the money to his son already, but the gang leader never received it.

After five seconds of going back and forth, Max's father couldn't tolerate his pettiness, and ended up shooting him five times in the face, and three times in the stomach area. His large and small intestines were coming out, his stomach was shot open, and his heart beat stopped at an instant.

The three gang members made their way to the second floor into Cooper's room, threatening to kill him if he didn't hand over the money. The boy cried his eyes out, complaining as one of the men held him down by the arms. They had no other choice but to stick the gun into his mouth and shoot out his brain.

Blaine was in his bedroom, hearing the gun shots while trying to sleep. He didn't want those guys coming in on him and killing him. So he quickly made his bed, ran into the closet, closed the door with him inside, and hid in the hamper under the dirty clothes he stashed in there.

The gang members all entered, looking around for anyone else living. They assumed that the youngest son wasn't even in the house, and left the home. Blaine caught sight of the men from his bedroom window when they made it to the front door. They drove away in a stolen, silver 1997 Buick Lesabre.

The boy escaped from his room to find the corpse of his older brother, Cooper. He seemed to have struggled his way away from the men, but of course failed. Young Blaine cried his eyes out, running downstairs to find his father shot to death on the living room couch, and his mother stabbed to death on the floor in the hallway.

One of the neighbors heard the gun fire, and immediately dialed 9-1-1. She made it to the house at the right time, finding Blaine knelt down by his bloody mother. The Andersons' neighbor watched him until the cops made it over.

They investigated the dead bodies found in the home, and took Blaine away to the station. When asked if he had any living relatives, he told them that they were in other cities – cities he didn't know how far they were. So they just sent the boy to the orphanage where he got signed in and put into the room with the other boys.

* * *

Image #2: Kurt Hummel. Birth date: May 27th, 1993. Height: 4'0". Admission: August 13th, 2000.

The boy in the picture had light, soft skin with brunette hair and Glasz eyes. He always wore designers clothes, some of them with a scarf or a nice hat to accompany it. His hands were folded in front of his body, shyly looking into the camera, and a melancholy facial expression.

Whenever he's in a room with a bunch of children, he'd sit at a kid's table by himself, cuddling with an old teddy bear in his arms. The only time the orphanage mothers and fathers had trouble with him was when they had to take the bear away.

He was too scared to look anyone directly in the eye, and he'd always look at the picture frame with both of his parents in the picture. An orphanage mother found the boy crying in the boys' bathroom one afternoon after being bullied by a couple of kids.

His backstory was pretty simple, if asked by anyone. He had a happy family life. He was the son of Elizabeth and Burt Hummel. The household family lived in a home located on 415 Whitman Avenue. Kurt would spend most of his time with his mother than his father, and he would develop a feminine side to him.

At the school he attended – Callaway Elementary School – he would sometimes get picked on by some students for his sexuality. He hid this from his parents for a little while, figuring that it would go away sooner or later. But then it got worse. On the inside of his locker, they'd tape notes with the words _faggot_ or _homo_ in red and black ink. It got to him dearly, and he's sometimes ditch school.

While this was going on, Elizabeth was in a rocky relationship with an old fling, Patrick Caesar. He used to date the woman a few years ago. Elizabeth then realized that Patrick only went out with her because of her looks and sex. He'd compliment every day about how her hair looks and her sultry face. Not only that, but Elizabeth spotted him with two other women downtown at a bar. After that confrontation, she never spoke to him again.

Then on August 1st of 2000 after she marries Burt Hummel, Patrick returns and sticks a needle in the woman, making sure she didn't awake when he dragged her out to his car. Ten minutes later, Elizabeth wakes up naked and beside Patrick in a dirty hotel room. She somehow escapes him by lying to him, saying that she'll pick up cigarettes for him. However, she catches a bus and returns home.

It was about three o'clock in the morning, and the men of the house were asleep. Elizabeth cried her eyes out, thinking of how guilty she felt about sleeping with another man. She couldn't take the pain anymore.

The following day, Burt wakes up and sees a suicide note taped to his chest:

_Dear Burt,_

_If you're reading this right now, I'm suffering through a crisis. I know you remember when we married and I promised to keep myself to you and nobody else. I promised everything to you, but I felt that the promise was broken. Just last night, somehow, I was in a hotel bed with an old fling, Patrick Caesar. I believe you know him. I dumped him before I married you. I told you on our first date._

_Anyway, I feel really guilty for it. I knew that you'd probably leave me and take Kurt with you. I didn't want to risk our relationship together. I didn't want to risk having Patrick around and ruining our family. I felt so bad for myself. Breaking promises and bringing him in the picture are the things I definitely don't want to happen. I can't bring myself to thinking that he's still in my life._

_If you're reading this…well, I just drove on to the Lima City Forest Reserve, and killed myself. I sacrificed myself for the awful things I've done with Patrick to you. You don't deserve a betraying wife; you deserve better. Move on without me. Take care of Kurt. I promise I'll be watching you two in heaven. I'm sure you'll be okay._

_-Elizabeth Hummel, your darling wife and angel from heaven_

Burt and Kurt made it to the forest reserve, and found Elizabeth Hummel hung from an oak tree. Along with hanging herself, she slit her wrists open. On the ground beneath her were pills from a pill container and a knocked-over toadstool. The scene was utterly terrifying.

Kurt stood there, eyeing his dead mother's corpse, and sobbed beside his father. The police came by after Burt's phone call and took the body away.

This affected Burt and his son entirely. Kurt's grades went down in school, and he still had a problem with the bullies in his school. He never said anything about the harassment because he felt like his mother was the only one to handle it. Burt would sometimes ask about school and if anything was going wrong. Kurt wouldn't respond.

Burt watched as his family life crumbled to pieces. The love of his life took away her life because of something from her past that came and haunted her in the present. Kurt wouldn't speak to anyone knowing that his mother was the only one that understood him. And even worse, Burt was going through some depression stages. He did a worse job at work than he did before. He'd stay in his room most of the day. He wouldn't even go out on a night of fun with his friends. Nothing ever brought him to the happy place again.

One night, he had to pick up some medicine he ordered from Walgreens, and left a babysitter to handle with Kurt until he got back. It was only seven at night, but he felt like it was dark every single day. His wife was the light of day. She made each day brighter. He knew pretty well that she didn't want to have to deal with Patrick and have her love life all messed up. But _suicide_? Burt never imagined she'd do a thing.

He was so depressed about his wife's death that he didn't focus that well on the road. He found himself driving in the wrong lane on the road, and spotted a storage truck driving straight for him. He twisted the wheel, making every attempt to get to the right side. It didn't really help, though, because he crashed into a tree off the road. Glass stuck to his face, his head, on his arms. Blood came out of his mouth. He was definitely not in good shape.

The babysitter, Catherine, received a call from paramedics that came to observe Burt crashed into the tree. One of the paramedics explained that they were sending the man to the hospital. Catherine, panicked, went in Kurt's bedroom and grabbed him to bring him to see his father.

The young porcelain boy didn't have any idea in hell what was going on. All he knew was that he wanted his father to _survive_. What was seven-year-old Kurt Hummel to do without _both_ of his parents?

It took about two hours to wait on any results from one of the doctors that worked on that man's body. The scene – sitting in a room with beeps, dead or injured people in rolling cots – was horrifying to Kurt.

A dark man with curly hair – went by the name of Dr. Roger Sampson – informed the boy and his babysitter that there was too much bleeding in the brain, his rib cage was broken, and his heart was torn up by a couple of bones in his chest. In other words…Burt Hummel had _died_.

Kurt cried his eyes out for days. Both of his parents were gone, and he was all alone now. He kept on wishing that he said something to his parents before they both perished from earth. He felt so stupid for not attempting. Now his mother committed suicide, and father passed away from a severe car crash.

And unfortunately, for him, Catherine was still in college – the girl was about nineteen or twenty years old – and she couldn't raise Kurt on her own. Not only that, but Kurt wasn't familiar with the addresses of any living relative. So Catherine had to call the orphanage and send Kurt there.

He was literally pissed off at his babysitter for letting him go. He thought she'd always have his back. She's been with Kurt since he was only three or four years old. She'd cradle him in her arms when it thundered outside and he would get scared. She was there for him for years, and now she was giving Kurt away!

Since that day, Kurt never forgave Catherine for what she did. He never trusted anyone.

When he stayed in the orphanage, he wouldn't even let the orphan mothers get him his own food. He would sometimes sneak out of the building at night to retrieve his own snacks from the dollar store next door. Every time, the store manager wouldn't even know Kurt broke in there for anything.

This fact is still unknown to the orphanage mothers and fathers.

* * *

Image #3: Santana Lopez. Birth Date: March 25th, 1994. Height: 3'9". Admission: July 20th, 1999.

The girl in the picture was moderately fierce and angered when the police brought her here. She frowned and folded her arms in almost all of her pictures the camera person took of her. Her hair was always in a ponytail, with soft curls freely sitting on her head.

She fought with the orphanage mothers about putting the gray plaid dress on, but had to since – quoted by Miss Kellie Ranger – married couples desperate for kids, or at least another one, didn't want to see the young girl in such a big mess.

She was always aggressive with the other children. Whenever they noisily played in the play area, she'd yell at them and seize any toy they were playing with. Sometimes, she would physically hurt one of them. She actually attacked a little brunette girl with a xylophone, putting a couple of scratches on her forehead. The orphanage mothers didn't let her out of her room for days after that, and made her talk with an anger management therapist.

There were many reasons for Santana to be mad. She was only five years old when she was sent to the orphanage. Her story was common, but mentally brought her down throughout her childhood life.

It all started when Santana was first born to her mother, Maribel Lopez. Maribel figured that she, Santana, and her husband, Perry Lopez would live a happy family forever.

However, Perry had a different approach.

He was a doctor at the Harry Weisman Hospital for about fifteen years. He wasn't _employee of the month_ material or anything, but he worked just as hard as anyone else. He had many friends in the workplace before he went berserk. He found out that not only his wife seemed to be cheating on him with her co-worker, but he got fired after a failed operation for a fifty-year-old man. He was angry with the other co-workers because he wasn't even the reason the operation didn't go well.

Unfortunately, he didn't even attempt to win back his job. He just hung out at bars and drank glasses of beer, vodka, and occasionally wine. The drunk man would troll neighborhood stores, and nearby, he spotted two drug dealers. They both offered him cocaine and marijuana.

Perry paid about seventeen dollars for the drugs, and used them almost every day. People would avoid him because he smelled like cigarettes and never took a shower. He hardly came home for weeks, and spent all of his time with the drug dealers and working off his pay for the drugs he bought.

Santana and her mother were at home one day, minding their own business and playing board games. There was nothing the brunette girl loved more than spending time with her beloved mother. They shared everything: Santana's toys and movies, snacks, trips to the toy store or an amusement park – anything.

Maribel gushed over her daughter. She was only five years old, and she looked so mature. She had the most adorable grin on her face when her mother took pictures of her playing with the neighbors' cat, Whiskers. She dreamed to become a model when she grew up. Maribel almost considered making that dream come true by putting her in _Toddlers and Tiaras_ – until she found out about the Botox incident and pornographic clothing, which Santana somewhat liked.

The two had such a wonderful bond – and that precious bond was broken in a matter of minutes.

Santana was sitting in her parents' room, playing with a stuffed puppy and being in her own little world. Her mother was in the same room, reading a book she found from the library.

All of a sudden, Perry came back into the house. He hadn't been in the house for three and a half months. He was going crazy now. He yelled at his wife for no reason at all. Santana, after hearing her father yelling from the hallway, hid in the closet and watched the commotion.

Perry kept on asking for all of her money, and to leave the house with Santana. He had consumed five glasses of beer that day, and smoked a couple cigs of marijuana earlier. Clearly, he was delirious. Maribel begged him to leave her and her daughter alone, but Perry was impatiently. He wanted Maribel and Santana out of his life, but Maribel refused.

With all of that, Perry pulled out a shotgun and shot her three times in the chest.

After he shot his wife, he turned to the open closet and saw Santana hiding behind some of the clothes in there. Since Maribel was dead, he was stuck with raising her on his own – and boy, he didn't want custody of that girl.

He took her to an torn-down apartment where he was living with his roommate, Gerald. The place was ultimately messy. The faucet in the kitchen leaked, food was scattered on the dining room table, the kitchen counter – even the coffee table in the living room.

The place had only two bedrooms. Unfortunately, Perry wouldn't let his own daughter sleep in the same bed with him. He put a blanket and a soiled pillow on the rug in front of the bed and allowed her to sleep there. She couldn't go outside or converse with any of the neighbors. He didn't want the girl to babble to everyone about how he killed his own wife. And instead of taking her to preschool, they made her clean the house and learn cleanliness.

The only toy he allowed Santana to play with was the stuffed puppy she had with her when Maribel was killed. She occasionally came out of her father's room and watched one hour of cartoons. She wasn't allowed to be left alone by babysitters because she'd tattle on them about her mother's death, and all she ate every day was pizza, bread, and apples.

The only liquids they had in the house was milk, water, beer, wine, vodka, and gin. Since the pipes were messed up and the bottled water they had wasn't clean, they only provided Santana with milk to drink. They didn't get her any orange juice, soda, or any other drink they had in the grocery store.

She found it unfair that she had to stay with Perry. She wanted her mother back. She was everything to her, and her unfit father took her life away. She cursed him out in her dreams. She imagined killing him while he slept, stabbing him a continuous number of times in the chest. She imagined him in the tub, and she'd throw a plugged-in radio in with him. Either way, she wanted that horrible man out of her life.

One day, somewhat of a miracle came. The police arrived in the apartment building unexpectedly, searching for Santana's father. Before they arrived in the apartment, they found fingerprints on the gun he used to shoot his wife. Along with that, neighbors heard gunshots and spotted Maribel's body in the house. One of them immediately called the police, they investigated evidence there, and came to Perry's new residence.

Once they got there, they found much drugs and alcohol in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. The innocent brunette child was sitting on the rug where she always slept, looking at the strong, tough policemen observing the rooms. They questioned the little girl if she knew anything.

Just when she was about to speak, her father came in, interrupting them and asking why they were interrogating her daughter. One of the policemen held his gun up, while the other handcuffed the man, dragging him down to the car outside. Gerald was also handcuffed and taken to another car. Santana was put in a third car and taken to the police station.

After answering questions about her mother and father, Perry and Gerald were both arrested for theft, another few years added to Perry's sentence for homicide. Santana was sent to the orphanage an hour after.

She seemed calm at first, but she had a very big temper. She wished for everything to come back to normal, but it never happened. She won't even let new families talk with her. Instead, she stayed in her room and threw a big hissy fit, one that the orphanage mothers and fathers could handle.

* * *

Image #4: Brittany S. Pierce. Birth Date: January 23rd, 1994. Height: 3'11 ½". Admission: April 12th, 1999.

The innocent girl in the photo was the most vulnerable one of them all. She never smiled nor frowned. She always had a blank or sad facial expression. She held her left arm with her right hand. Her head would sink most of the time, showing her silky but tangled, blonde hair.

Out of everyone in the orphanage, she wouldn't talk to anybody. The orphanage mothers and fathers never really got a word out of her. She wouldn't even cry. They never got a taste of Brittany's voice. She wouldn't converse with any other children. In fact, all she did was stay in the corner with a stuffed unicorn and hold onto it for the rest of the play day.

No one could get her to meet a new family, either. She'd pull away and run to her room, hiding under the bed and waiting until whoever chased her left.

She liked to draw a lot, just like Blaine. Although she didn't say anything to the therapist, she drew pictures of what she saw and what was done to her. One of the pictures was of her father on top of her on a queen-sized bed. He had an angered facial expression, and she was facing stomach down on the bed with her pants down, allowing her father to insert himself inside her. The mother was drawn at the edge of the bed, holding the blonde's feet down.

Another picture Brittany drew was of her in what looked to be a dirty, almost-empty closet. The clothes were boxed in plastic bins, and a thin blanket was thrown on the closet floor. The blonde girl drawn in the picture – whom the therapists assumed to be Brittany – was sleeping on the floor. Food was scattered everywhere, bugs crawled around, a bucket of waste was put in the corner, and puke was on the floor. There were no windows except for the small, rectangle-shaped one that stood high above inside where the bins of clothes were put.

The third picture was of Brittany and what looked to be her mother. She had a belt in her hands, eyeing the little girl kneeling down on something gray and hard. The therapists noticed some scars on Brittany's palms and knees. They turned back to the picture, and saw a sack she drew in the corner somewhere that read _Heavy Duty Rock Salt_ on it.

The fourth picture was of the blonde girl's house. A window was open in the living room, and it seemed like Brittany escaped. A car driving away was shown in the picture as well. The therapists concluded that the girl escaped from her parents and somehow found her way here.

One of the orphanage mothers, Miss Edna Parsons, was interviewed by a policeman that came to speak about Brittany's escape from home and entrance into the orphanage. She told them that Brittany was seen out in a suburban area, walking on the sidewalks by herself. Edna had just gotten off work, and was heading to the grocery store to pick up some milk and toilet paper for home. She was outside of a drug store, sitting on the porch and waiting for the rain to stop.

Once Edna had gotten close enough to her, she tried asking her about how she got out there by herself. The girl just shrugged. Then she asked if she knew where her parents were. The girl shook her head. That's when Edna considered taking Brittany to the orphanage and making _lost and found_ signs for her. Brittany grabbed her arm, shaking her head. She didn't want to go back to wherever she was, it looked like. Edna assumed something was wrong, so she took the blonde to the orphanage to stay with them for a while.

After investigating the pictures the blonde drew, the therapist and policeman went to Brittany's home – after receiving the address from her – and found the married couple at home in their room, looking for the little girl. The two were sentenced for twenty years for molestation and child abuse. They kept on threatening that they'll soon get out and kill their daughter, which added another ten years to their sentence. Afterwards, Brittany was admitted into the orphanage. The police promised her that she wouldn't have to deal with those evil mongrels ever again.

* * *

"And they've been missing for three or four days, you say?" Chief Newberry interrogated as he sipped a cup of hot cocoa that sat on his desk.

"Yes," the man before him answered, "and no one nearby the orphanage has found them ever since."

A string of silence fell over suddenly. The Ohio State Police Department succeeded with a number of cases before. Twelve hundred homicides and hold-ups. Three hundred molestation or rape cases. About one hundred and twenty suicides in high schools. If they could do all of that, then how would a simple evacuation be any difficult?

"Should I report this to Channel 5 news?"

The chief typed something into his computer at his desk. "Someone's bound to find those kids."

The fit man darted towards the entrance of his office. "I'll get Lisa Hunter on the phone."

O-O-O-O-O

The theme music for LLN Channel 5 came on. Every TV screen tuned in to LLN Channel 5 lit up green, yellow, and white. The logo was literally stamped on the title card, and then faded, revealing the female news reporter seated in a studio with many papers placed in front of her.

"Good evening, Lima, Ohio," the blonde woman spoke into the camera. She looked to be very alert and concerned, focused on the documents placed in front of her.

"Tonight's top story: four children have been missing from the Charles Holmes Orphanage as of October fifth. Nine-year-old Kurt Hummel, and eight-year-olds Blaine Anderson, Santana Lopez, and Brittany S. Pierce have all been reported to be missing from the orphanage, with no evidence of their disappearance. For more on the report, we go to Daniel Brown. Daniel."

A caramel-skinned man showed up on the screen. He was standing in front of the orphanage, wearing a brown jacket. It was about fifty-four degrees – maybe more, maybe less – but it was like a black hole out there, still.

A black fence surrounded the perimeter, which seemed to be around two thousand, seven hundred and ninety feet. A brown sign was planted in the ground on the other side of the fence on the lawn that read _Charles Holmes Orphanage_.

"Just four days ago, one of the orphanage mothers, Miss Elizabeth Callie, was getting all of the children ready for sleep. Just at 11:45 p.m., she did a room check on the girls' bedrooms before learning that Santana Lopez and Brittany S. Pierce had both left. An orphanage father, Mr. Eddie Winslow, discovered that Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel both vanished moments after the two girls. Once police have made it to the scene, no evidence of homicide or abduction could be found."

Miss Elizabeth Callie was seen on screen, with a microphone directed to her. The woman's brunette hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she had the most anxious facial expression.

"I can't imagine them escaping the area," she spoke, "and even if I did, I wouldn't imagine them going any farther than a block or two. They're just _kids_."

There was another shot of the neighborhood where the orphanage was located. Lisa Hunter's white woman voice can be heard in the background.

"Police are still on the search of these four children, interrogating some neighbors or people that had some relation to each."

A skinny blonde close to her twenties was next in the shot. She lived in the second floor of an apartment building. Books were scattered all over the dining room table, and a souvenir flag hung on the wall beside a photograph in a frame – of what looked to be the blonde and a couple of friends – that had the logo for University of Northwestern Ohio.

"There could be any logical reason for Kurt leaving the orphanage – any reason, I tell you," she spoke into the mike. A sense of guilt flew through her as she took in the memory of when Kurt was first sent to the orphanage. The poor boy was so alone – damn her for not keeping him for at least a while! "Look, I'll admit that he was mad at me, especially after I said I couldn't watch him that much longer on my own. I get it."

She gasped. It had been a while since she's seen the child. He could be out looking for her for all she knew. "Do you – do you think he's coming for me?"

The interviewer gave no response.

O-O-O-O-O

"Oh, she was such a sweetie pie."

The next shot was of a lower middle class neighborhood, but looked almost awfully trashed. The cameraman made it to the lawn of a happily married couple. The landscaping around them wasn't much clean – with the hanging clothes in the back, the scrambled toys, and the barbecue grill and all – but it was still decent.

An obese woman with glasses had tears running down her face. Her husband stood close behind with the same melancholy facial expression. They'd sent the little girl's parents to prison – or even to hell; like God would even want devilish adults taking care of such a young baby girl – if they weren't so violent.

"Sometimes, Jerry and I would go over to the house and visit the poor child when the family needed help with plumbing or any other glitches in the house," the woman sobbed and sniffled in between words, "and she would try to put on the least bit of a smile on her face, she would. It was – it was too hard on her. Majority of the time, she wouldn't _look_ at us. And –"

She continuously shook her head and buried her face into her hands. How could she go on like this. Help her, dear Lord – that baby girl was so adorable, yet helpless. Her own daddy didn't allow her to open her mouth because she could end up tattling about the abuse she's been receiving all this time.

The man shot his eyes to the interviewer, gripping onto his wife's shoulders. "It was those goddamned parents of hers." He was seconds close to threatening to punch them in the face, already knowing that they got locked up years ago. "She couldn't speak up about it because of them! She done got fucked two times a day! She sat there in hard rock salt. She lived in a goddamned closet all this time!"

More sobs came from the weeping woman beneath him.

"Imagine all the opportunities we had to call the police on them crazy people," the man, earlier recognized as Jerry, moved on with his rant. "We could've done it. We could've saved her life, and we just sat there like nothing happened!"

The woman's cries turned into yells. "Oh, baby girl! Why they do this to you?" She fell into Jerry's arms, with her hands still buried in her hands.

Jerry felt like crying, too. He had to stay strong, though – for his wife and that poor, innocent child. Justice was going to be brought sooner or later. Someday, he hoped, that girl will come running free, in need of a home and a loving family. The two neighbors of hers would definitely be there for her.

"I only pray to God that she makes it back safely. She's had enough of this crap. She's had enough."

O-O-O-O-O

"I figured Cooper and Max would get along perfectly like any other child would with another."

The next shot was of Northern Bridge Elementary School. A female teacher with strawberry blonde hair was standing on the playground area. Behind her, kids were playing and pretending like nothing happened – well, almost all of them; some made dirty little faces in the camera from a distance and whatnot.

"This goes to show all those students out there in elementary schools and high schools that, you really can't trust anyone out there."

Her mouth ejected a lot of air after taking a breath. "Max sure did have cruel parents. When I first heard the news about Cooper and both of his parents getting killed by those gang members, I couldn't tell if they were proud of this or not. It was always about getting money with them – from what I learned from a couple of neighbors."

It was really unfortunate for this woman to be standing here and losing both of her students – one being shot by dirty, tattooed assholes, and the other being sent to a mental hospital to take care of his attitude. Society was turning its children into a whole bunch of shit, she agrees. The music, the weapons, the smut in books and on the internet.

One day, she'll see one of her kindergarteners in her junior year of high school with a baby bump, and just shake her head at how fucked up everything is.

"They were just in it for the money?"

The lady nodded. "Well, yeah. They were poverty-stricken for a little while, until Max turned around three or four years old. Don't get me wrong; I understand that they need to take care of the family, but why should they sacrifice their reputations by torturing other families – especially the ones with young children? They could at least get off their a – "

She turned behind her, watching the kids play and being cautious of her vulgar language.

"Their butts, I mean, and graduate from college with a degree, and then find themselves a job. Whatever Max's father was thinking – or if he was thinking at all – he pretty much screwed up big time. Him and his son."

"How do you feel about Cooper Anderson's family? What do you expect the outcome of their family lives to be?"

"Well, Cooper and both of his parents, I hope they rest in peace. I really hope they do. I pray for them every night in hopes they've moved on to greener pastures than whatever we're living in. The only one that made it out of that house alive was the youngest son, Blaine – Jesus, Blaine. He was only a baby back then. And now he's running somewhere, with no explanation of what happened. I hope he makes it back safely."

The woman brought her hand to her mouth, stared down at the ground, and let out endless tears.

O-O-O-O-O

"I'm gonna tell you right now, and I'm dead-on serious: Perry is a real bitch."

A skinny black female with a white T-Shirt and her teenage son's graduation picture on it glared at the interviewer, cursing out that wicked man in her mind as much as possible.

"I live two buildings away from where he lived," she continued. "I saw him out on street corners with this ugly ol' dude and this itty bitty girl. I'm like, he lost his damn mind to be selling drugs and accompanying a little tot like her. Why would people carelessly do this kind of crap and raise children?"

"Did you know about the death of his wife at any point when this was going on?" the interviewer asked, speaking into his mike before pointing it in the lady's direction.

"Well, when he was first arrested and it was put on the seven o'clock news, yes," the lady replied. "It took me a while to put the pieces together. Girl with a crack-head man, dude selling drugs with another thug – and then it clicked just like that."

She inhaled a little and her eyes wandered off past the camera. "Now…she's somewhere, running away. I'll bet it has something _to do_ with her momma's death. I don't blame her one bit. I'd do that kind of thing if my momma was killed by some ugly old bastard. But I hope she makes it back somehow. I'm worried for her, and I bet her momma from heaven is, too."

O-O-O-O-O

Lisa Hunter returns on screen with the most serious facial expression, giving everyone the benefit of a doubt.

"Police are still on the look-out for these four runaways, getting input from different people on the streets, and eventually leading up to their final checkpoint. We'll be right back after these messages."

She quickly faded out of view, and a commercial for a bacon double cheeseburger from Duncan's Dungeon came on.

* * *

The dramatic theme music for the LLN Channel 5 came on. Lisa Hunter, now with longer hair put in a bun on the back of her head, wore a black suit with a skirt and a hot pink tank underneath the jacket. She listened to an earpiece that was on her ears seconds before it was her moment to speak.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a special report," the blonde spoke, stacking the papers in front of her in a neat pile. "A nearby corner store has been robbed, and three people have been killed on the inside. Police are investigating the scene and digging up evidence on who the murderer just might be."

The next shot was of the corner store in question, Quick Buy, which was surrounded by police cars and yellow tape. Some men were taking out three dead bodies and bringing them to the ambulance that parked in the street, its lights and siren going off continuously.

One female police officer spoke with some of the customers that were inside at the time, and another, Jessica Wynder, spoke to the interviewer behind the camera.

"One of the customers inside – I assume he was in the bathroom at the time – just spotted a male and a female with their guns aimed at the people in the front of the store, and got the whole scoop from another that stood by the frozen food area. The murderers just opened the door and got ready to go, and the man just brought this to our attention via his cell phone. Seems like the murderers weren't keeping a good watch on its hostages."

"W-Wait, there was more than one?" the interviewer asked.

Officer Wynder nodded. "Three. One was a female, assumed to be Latina or some sort. And there were two males involved. They didn't seem like gang members, but they were out for something, I believe."

Another shot of the corner store was shown, and the third dead body was carefully placed in the ambulance. Lisa Hunter's voice was heard, although her face not seen.

"Police are still finding evidence, and will track down the whereabouts of the three murderers as soon as possible."

O-O-O-O-O

* * *

**Date: February 25****th****, 2012**

**City, State: Lima, OH**

**Time: 7:54 p.m.**

**Location: Quick Buy corner store**

* * *

"Victim number one, facing west." A crime scene investigator stepped in the store, with a guy with a camera following close behind. He took photos of a man with a moustache – assumed to be some kind of Mexican – and a plaid shirt, laying on his side on the ground behind the front desk. Blood deeply stained his shirt, and it was spread out around his body.

"Armando Montgomery, male," the man observing the body spoke aloud, and a female in front of the desk took note of it in her notepad. "Approximately one hundred and forty-eight pounds. Two bullets shot through the upper left side of his chest, one at his forehead."

He walked from the desk to the shelves where the chips and snacks were stored. Another guy lay dead and on his back on the ground. He had on a white T-Shirt under a plaid one, which was awfully stained with blood on it as well.

"Victim number two, facing southeast," he spoke aloud, with the lady keeping a note of it. "Male. Approximately one hundred and sixty-two pounds. Trauma to the head, and three bullets at the lower stomach."

A few steps away was another victim that got shot by the murderers. The person seemed to have slid down to seating position when he got gunned down. Blood spewed out of his forehead and his neck down to his black hoodie and his blue jeans.

"Victim number three, facing north…east." Another was made into the notepad. "Male. Approximately one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Trauma to the head, bullet stuck in his forehead and neck. Hit on his right temple with a blunt object."

Still recording their findings, a police officer stepped next to him, holding a videotape in his hands. "We have…some footage taken from the security camera."

The man turned in his direction and saw the black object in his hands. "Alright, let's check it out."

The bodies have been taken away, and the crime scene investigator and the police officer went to the police department building to record their findings in the video.

The crime has been committed at 7:02, just about fifty minutes before everyone came to investigate. Armando, the cashier, had just confirmed a purchase a redheaded woman made, and was now opening up a can of Diet Coke.

Three teenagers walk in: one with a gray hoodie, a yellow sweater, and a brown, plaid bowtie, his hair black and full of hair gel; one with a black jacket, skinny pants, white shoes, and neatly combed and sprayed, chestnut hair; and another with lengthy, brunette hair, a black jean jacket, white tank, skinny jeans, and black Converse shoes, holding onto a black bag that hung over her left shoulder.

The two male suspects innocently look on the shelves for anything they need, and the female suspect walked up to the front desk, almost flirting with Armando.

He sort of walks into her little tricks, shooting smirks and punch lines at her. The female suspect tugs at the low-cut collar on her tank, almost showing her perfectly-formed breasts. The cashier almost looks down, admiring her feminine form, and snapping out suddenly.

The female suspect then asks for some money, but the cashier refuses. She continues to seduce him, coming behind the desk and touching all over his chest, believing that he'll pay him if she tried some tactics on him. Armando pushes her arm away, yelling at her and threatening her to stop seducing him.

Shaking her head slightly, she pulls out a Jericho 941 pistol, aiming it in his face. The cashier's hands fly up all of a sudden, backing away from the girl. She took steady steps towards him, giving him a three-second countdown. He threatens to call the police, his voice reaching to its peak. Customers in the store notice this, one of them hiding in the back of the store and another running out to their car.

The girl pulls at the trigger three times, and the man falls to the ground. Her head shoots up at the customers still in the store. The boy in the black jacket has a Browning High-Power automatic handgun, aiming at a male and three other females near the bread section. The boy with the gray hoodie holds another Jericho 941 at two males by the snacks area.

All witnesses fall to their knees, excluding a male in a black hoodie. The chestnut-haired boy shouts and tells him to get down, aiming his gun at him. The guy in the black hoodie pleads for his life. Unable to take much more of it, the boy in the black jacket tells him to shut up, grabbing a baseball bat that the boy with the gray hoodie brought in. He promised that he'll feel pain, beating him recklessly, giving him one last chance to get down on his knees.

The man brings his arms up, attempting to take the bat away. The girl aims her gun at the man, shooting him in the forehead and neck. He slides against the shelf and falling to the ground.

The obese guy gets up a little, giving the girl an angry stare and confessing that the guy in the black hoodie was his friend. Not really giving a shit, the girl takes the bat and hits him in the head. To finish him off, she shoots him in the stomach, and his mouth and open wound spews out blood.

The suspects still hold the rest of the customers hostage, and gather up some random food, drinks, paper towels, and some plastic bags. The boy in the gray hoodie, still holding his gun up, attempts to open the cash register, and takes a sack full of money, along with the donation jar. He rounds up the other two suspects, and they head out of the store.

The crime scene investigator and the police officer, still looking at the screen, took good observations of the dead bodies left on the scene.

"Looks like we've got our murderers," the crime scene investigator concluded, writing the last of his notes in his notepad.

The police officer nodded in agreement. "Now…we go out and find 'em."

* * *

_Author's Note: Hey guys. I just wanted to see how you guys would like this story. I'm still working on my other fan fic, "Teach Me How to Love", if you guys are still wondering. That'll be uploaded some time this week. Anyways, thank you for those who left good reviews for that story, and I hope you'll like this one as well._


	2. Part 1b

Silence. Nothing but silence.

It was pretty much needed at this point. If only they hadn't done it. But would it be easier to just rob a store, run away, and then have the store clerk running up behind? He seemed perfectly fit, too – well, almost.

They all needed time to reflect. Reflect on what they were thinking before even attempting holding up a corner store and killing three victims on the inside. Reflect on how much stronger they feel now compared to about ten to fifteen years old. God was really gonna bite them in the ass sooner or later. This was actual crime they were committing, not just sneaking money away from your mother's purse.

Neither of them seemed to mind, though. This was the kind of thing they almost _wanted_ or even _expected_ to happen. Their lives were already a bunch of shit earlier on in their lives. Why not make everyone else feel the same way? They didn't want to – honestly, they didn't want to – but they could've had a better childhood. A better present. Most of all, a better future. God probably turned their backs on them for some reason. What was it about those four that made him bring deaths upon their families and trauma into their personal lives?

Whatever it was, they weren't going to spend all their time trying to figure it out. They might as well get up on their feet and get payback for all the hell they've burned in.

The teen in the gray hoodie gripped at the wheel, the most intense facial expression he's ever had up to date. He really did feel like he was starting up his own gang right now. If only that fat lug and his father weren't put somewhere so he can smite them and kill their asses. The big brother would've been proud.

Beside him in the passenger's seat was the brunette, her white tank slightly stained with blood. Her jacket and pants – thank God, or whoever it was, that they were black – didn't show anything, really. She wasn't sure if her father taught her how to use a gun, or she just fell upon an action film her father was watching on the old television. Whatever it was, she was pretty badass for being a pro at guns. Something about it just made her tingle inside.

The boy with the black jacket sat behind the driver's seat, and a quiet blonde sat on his right, leaning against the window, almost asleep.

The porcelain boy could only think of Catherine. Sure, she was nice to him and all, but he'll be damned if he has to sleep on a dirty mattress in that orphanage for another night without his babysitter watching over him at every minute. That's how his mother would check on him – or at least that's how she _used_ to check on him. He missed her so much. He missed everything about her. They bonded more than he did with the students at his old school. Whoever did this to her, she was going to –

Oh wait, she took it upon herself, that's right. And then this asshole, Patrick, had to come back into her life. Patrick…wait, who the hell was Patrick, Kurt could only wonder now.

The blonde leaning against the car window could only think of – she couldn't think at all. Her mind was filled with the dirtiest, devilish things that both of her parents did before she got to this point in her life. She couldn't even look down in her lap, because all she saw when her eyes shot down there was her father's dick. Wet, spewing out some sperm shit in her sex, and longer than a snake's body.

She never even knew what sex was before her parents fucked her for the first time. She was only so young. Anyone would expect her to be exposed to just cartoon shows and Toys R Us. She didn't have any of that. She never played with toys nor watched TV in her life, until she was admitted into the orphanage.

But then every time she'd look at a kids show, she'd be distracted by the scene and feeling of her mother and father just fucking her. Fucking her until it hurt. She couldn't even stare Patrick from _SpongeBob Squarepants_ in the eye without imagining his father's erection through his sweatpants.

The tan Vauxhall Viva 2300 they stole earlier on still drove on the road. They had no idea what they were doing or where they were going. Either way, they had to find something. They wanted to start over. Just be born again, away from all of this crap they've been through, and live a normal life.

Nothing here was normal, though. Here they were, four strangers since they've met in the orphanage, driving in an old car moments after killing three people and stealing snacks and stuff from a corner store. One would expect that to be normal for a gang or something like that. It's not normal for previously tied-down orphans.

"So what are we going to do?"

The chestnut-haired boy spoke up to the driver and the other two passengers. It was the first thing any of them has said since they robbed Quick Buy. It was the only thing that stirred in his mind. Now they stole a couple of snacks and a car, and killed the senseless crap out of three people, they needed something else to do.

They needed more food and water, for one. They'll die on just Cheetos, Twinkies, bottles of Sprite and Crush, and handfuls of Smarties. That's all they could steal from Quick Buy before anyone could catch up to them. Some Whoppers from Burger King would do. Or maybe something from Wendy's. They needed more than just junk food.

Not just that, but they needed somewhere to stay. But they can't stay somewhere where people will recognize them. Maybe they can crash into one of those houses for sale. Maybe a house in a forest area where people won't find them.

"I don't know." The driver sighed, his eyes still on the road. The foursome never really thought of anything when they first left that orphanage. At first when they were sort of planning their escape, they thought they could lie to a couple of married couples with no kids, saying that their real parents abandoned them or something. It was between that, or finding a fancy house on a hill somewhere where they'll be safe.

And they knew damn well that wasn't going to happen.

"We could…I don't know…find a house for sale, and store our stuff there –"

The Latina girl scoffed. "Oh, come on. They'll hunt us down, Blaine. We'll be locked up after we smothered those morons at that Quick Buy. How do you expect us to stay in an actual _house_ when you know damn well that we're going to get caught?"

The driver, earlier indentified as Blaine, sharply turned his head towards the girl. "Well, we can't sleep in the car, either." Just imagining the pain in their necks had Blaine in a bust. Plus, the cops will easily see them through the car windows. "Look, sooner or later, we may get caught. I don't know anything, alright? But we need somewhere to sleep. It's been ten years since we've slept in an actual bed."

"But it's our first time that we've either robbed a place or killed a person. Those cop guys have us on video tape. You saw the news. They'll eventually drive around town, or even out of town to find us, and we'll be stuck in jail."

The chestnut-haired boy tapped his fingers against the car window, feeling the cool air blowing against it. "_They have beds in jail, at least_."

The Latina rolled her eyes. What kind of dumbass would choose jail over any other option they had? What they needed other than a bed is a future. One that's not filled with robbing people, stabbing and shooting, and hiding away from the public. One where they could do whatever they wanted. She never thought of it before, but the Latina actually wanted to be a supermodel or a stripper. She had the sexy body and the sultry face for it. Why not?

"We can't sacrifice ourselves, Kurt." The brunette took a moment to look at her nails, which haven't really gotten done in a while. Some of the black nail polish sort of scraped off. "Even if jail had beds, we won't have our freedom. I want to make something of myself. I don't want a permanent record. I don't want to have a shitty life like I did when I was a child."

"We pretty much already have a shitty life, Santana," Kurt spoke up. "It's not going to make much of a difference—"

Blaine groaned. Listening to the two of them go back and forth was driving him crazy. This whole journey at the start is driving him crazy. Who would ever know that he, Blaine Anderson, would escape from an orphanage in Lima, Ohio, and then try to get revenge on everything that's happened to him by stealing and crucifying?

If his own older brother hadn't met that nut job, he wouldn't be in this place right now – with three other orphans who pretty much have to go through the same hell.

"Let's just find somewhere, stop the bickering back and forth, and get at least one thing accomplished, alright?" he asked the two of them, turning the wheel as he went on down the road. "It's bad enough that I have to lead you all in this crap, keeping my eyes open every night since neither of you know how to drive –"

Santana held up one of her fingers beside Blaine's head. "Uh, who died and made you leader, Medusa?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been in that orphanage longer than all three of you put together," he disclosed. "I've slaved away in there for too damn long."

_Shit, please_, Santana thought with eyes rolling. _You think you have it as worse as me? I was born in hell, sent to earth, and sooner or later, I'll be sent back to hell again. How do you think I feel?_

"What about me?" the Latina spoke up. "My dad fucking killed my mom, and I have to live in his shitty apartment, filled with drugs, alcohol, and barely no food. I couldn't even sleep on a mattress! At least your parents _loved_ you. Why did you think you ended up in Lima anyways?"

"If I hadn't rounded you guys up back there, we wouldn't be here at this point, don't you think?" He was two seconds away from having all four of them crash into a tree somewhere. "I didn't want to be sent to another family. I didn't want to stay in that filthy orphanage, either. And I befriended you guys, for God's sakes! I didn't want to be some random kid on the street with no one to –"

"So, we're basically your human props, right?" Santana interrogated. "I didn't come out here just so I can have elevator talk with you –"

The teen in the gray hoodie rolled his eyes. "_Like you've ever seen an elevator_."

"Just – fuck you!"

"Guys!" Kurt leaned forward in his seat in the back between the two, and tried to calm them down for at least a second before they blow up each other's ear drums. "Does it really matter anyway? What really matters is that we do something about this whole situation. Where do we live? Where do we get food? How do we hide away? Anything so we don't get fucked up again, alright?"

The car was silent for a couple of seconds, and Blaine was still driving on the road. Santana turned away from the porcelain boy and looked ahead through the window. "Fine," she responded reluctantly, folding her arms.

Kurt leaned back into his seat and rested his head on the head rest, just thinking of how much of a handful the two can be. Hopefully the cops weren't behind them, since their conversation seemed to have them going so slowly in time right now.

The Latina looked down at her white tank. The blood from the cashier at Quick Buy was still on there. She didn't want to walk around with evidence under her jacket – and she didn't want to be a big mess, either.

"And while we're finding a house or whatever, you're going to have to take me to a store," she demanded. "I'm not gonna walk around with a bloody shirt."

"Can't you just wash it?" The car turned slightly on the road.

"No, jerk. Didn't you hear what I just said? They have a video of us. They remember what we wore when we were down there. We need new clothes. And how the hell are we gonna wash this thing? I'm not gonna take off my shirt, and have you two freaks looking at my boobs."

"Oh don't worry about me. I'm not on your team."

It was silent again.

Santana knew something was up with the porcelain boy when he saw him back at the orphanage. He always played dress up with this black girl and this brunette – what the hell were their names again? Sass Ass and Book Bride? Anyways, he'd pretend that he and those other two girls were famous in New York or something, singing Broadway tunes and waving to paparazzi.

Just watching them put on a show made Santana want to puke.

"Oh yeah," she finally replied. "I would need a penis and other masculine features for you to be attracted to me."

Kurt moaned. "Santana, don't start…"

"It's true, though, isn't it?"

No one said anything after that.

O-O-O-O-O

The car ride to wherever they were going was pretty long. Occasionally, they'll turn on the radio, listening out for anyone who might be looking for them.

"_In other news, police are still on the look-out for the three murderers that shot and killed the three victims in the Quick Buy corner store in suburban Lima, Ohio…_"

And every time something like that would come on, Blaine would turn away from the station and look up some calm jazz music on some station known as 102.7.

Suddenly alert, Santana whirled around towards the black-haired boy. "What the hell is this?"

"It's music."

"It's a whole bunch of shit, is what that is. And what are they saying about us?"

Blaine really didn't want Santana to turn to the station and have all of the passengers in the car turned to shock. The last thing he wanted was to hear something about the police looking for their asses and arrested them for a number of years.

Santana just touched a switch on the dial, and turned back to the news station. Kurt and the tired blonde in the back listened closely on what they were saying.

"_The 9-1-1 call came from one of the customers in the store, who claimed to have just come out of the bathroom. He got the in-sight information from a hostage kept inside…_"

Santana grit her teeth. "Damn it. We should've checked around the store."

"Why didn't you?"

"Clearly, I was taking care of some unfinished business with an irresistible cashier," the Latina explained. "Why the hell didn't you and Kurt take care of it? All you two did was walk around like injured puppies, and then hold up guns at people."

"You just killed three guys and took the cashier's money. Kurt and I had our hands full of snacks and stuff, ready to put them in the car and go on our way. You could've done something. You're not _that_ helpless!"

"Well, if you call yourself a leader in all of this, why the hell didn't you speak up and do something about it rather than just hold up a gun and steal things? That's what your allies do, Smarty Pants."

"Look, we can't do anything about it now," Kurt spoke up. "We were in a hurry anyways. All we've had since we've escaped the orphanage was food from a soup kitchen. It's no one's fault. We can move on and find a place to crash. Then we'll deal with everything else later."

"Deal with what?" the girl asked. "The fact that we're going to be put away soon? The fact that we just killed three men and robbed a store? There's nothing to deal with. All we have so far is a whole bunch of snacks and a stolen, old ass car. We don't have anything else to deal with."

"Except the fact that we need a home."

Kurt was right on that one. Goodness knows how long they've been on the road. It could've been days, weeks, maybe even years. They've been with this car for, like, six years, being that the first car they had – a Chevy – had a messed-up engine or whatever.

They needed to stop this car and find themselves a house with actual rooms and a bed. Well, maybe not a bed, but places where they can actually store their beds – or mattresses, for the time being.

* * *

Another hour and forty-five minutes past. Kurt and the blonde were asleep in the back, Blaine kept his eyes on the road, and Santana played around with the pens she found in the glove compartment for a while. Sitting in a car all evening was boring and was losing its effect.

The car turned again on the road, and it got a little bumpy. The tires drove over a rocky pathway, which woke up the other three in the car.

Kurt, Santana, and the blonde looked around. It was still dark outside, but they could still see with the lights coming from the moving vehicle. They were surrounded by trees and forest area. A sign that read _Welcome to Forest, Ohio_ was stuck on one of the pine trees that lay in the almost-deserted area. Crows could be heard cawing and making such racket, even with the windows rolled up to the top.

All three were pretty confused. Sure, they had to hide away from the police, but…did they really have to live in the woods?

"Blaine, where are we?" Kurt asked, nearly scoffing at the sight of dirt all around off the road. He swore he could've spotted a skunk or a raccoon, but he guessed otherwise.

"Forest, Ohio. A village just in between Wyandot and Hardin counties."

"Oh, hell no." The brunette folded her arms and rolled her eyes at the sight of the horror scene she just witnessed. "I am not a happy camper, you must know. I don't sleep on dirt or grass at any time of day. I don't hunt animals that may be poisonous or whatever sickness they have. I don't make fires like a homeless person."

"In case you haven't noticed, Santana, we _are_ homeless," Blaine clarified. "And trust me, there's no…sleeping in the dirt, hunting animals, building fire type of things."

"Okay, then what are we doing out here?"

"You'll see."

The car drove on the rickety pathway for another twenty minutes. Everyone was getting impatient, especially Santana. They all needed to sleep at some point. Their asses were killing them. They hadn't stood up in hours. Hopefully, wherever Blaine was taking them was worth the wait, because Santana was going to have the biggest hissy fit she's ever had.

The car finally stopped in the grass somewhere. Once the car was shut off, the four could barely see anything.

"We should've stolen a flashlight while we're at it," Kurt spoke up, unbuckling his seat belt.

"No need." Blaine opened the glove compartment and found a small, red flashlight he just so happened to steal from the orphanage a week before their escape. He also swiped some batteries from the Quick Buy corner store while they were still down there.

The car door unlocked, and all four climbed out of the car. Santana stretched as much as possible, regaining the feeling in her butt, legs, neck, back, and arms.

"Good God, that was hurting."

Kurt, still not being able to see anything, turned in any which way for clues on where they are right now. "I wonder where we are, exactly."

Blaine turned on the little red device and shone light at the sight around them. The most they saw was grass until they looked up at the single-story house with the _For Sale_ sign in front of it, with the brown mailbox sitting beside it. It was white with a black tile roof. Four windows, two on either side of the front door, were seen, with white curtains blocking the inside. Bushes were sitting alongside the front of the house, and a little hose was tied up somewhere on the side.

It may not be the place all four had imagined, but at least they have somewhere to stay. Now they can finally go inside, unpack, and get some rest for the night.

"Well, isn't this house adorable?" Santana quipped, heading back over to the car and unlocking the trunk.

"See there, guys?" Blaine asked her and the porcelain boy and girl. "We have somewhere to stay. Now, we just need a couple more things to make this place a little more…homey, you know?"

Kurt assisted in taking a bag of stolen snacks out of the trunk. "What else do we need besides mattresses?"

The Latina's head shot up from behind the trunk door. "Uh, hello? More food, for one. I mean, the Cheetos, pop, and candy is good for a little bit, but I have a figure to maintain."

"Yeah, and we need a refrigerator to put that stuff in. Houses just don't have free fridges inside for you."

"What if we don't need a fridge?"

"What if we needed ice?"

"Relax. It'll snow later on in the year or whatever. When December rolls around again, we can put some water in some ice boxes, and then we leave them out to freeze."

Kurt placed the bag down on the porch and turned to the Latina. "Santana, don't be ridiculous. First of all, we don't even know how long we'll be here."

"And second," Blaine added, "why just have ice in the winter? It'll be too cold for us to have ice in our drinks in the winter."

"Okay, then we steal a bag from the grocery store," Santana replied to the two boys. She took out a lawn chair they happened to find in the car they've stolen, and leaned it against the car. "Anything else?"

When it got down to it, there wasn't really anything else important that they needed…except for one thing.

"A radio?" Kurt asked.

"What do you think the car is for?" Santana responded.

"Television and entertainment, maybe," Blaine added.

The Latina made a thumbs-up to that comment. "More clothes, too," she added. She could still smell the awful stench of blood that stained her white tank.

"And toiletries," Kurt added.

Blaine tried to absorb everything all three of them listed so he could get a clear idea on what they needed in the morning. "Alright, so in the morning, we can get all of this stuff and return here to store it."

Santana closed the trunk door, with two more bags of Cheetos and Smarties in them, and turned towards the porch. Then something clicked into her mind. "Where are we going to get this stuff, though? We've only been here for ten minutes. We don't know any stores nearby."

Blaine fumbled with the ideal locations stirring in his mind. He looked all of this up straight before they robbed Quick Buy. If only he could –

He darted back to the car and reached for something in the glove compartment. He remembered he wrote all of this down on the back of a flier from a library.

"The Home Place," Blaine spoke up, reading off the piece of paper.

Santana almost chuckled at the name of the place. "_Yeah, right_."

"No, really. There's a place called The Home Place," Blaine informed. "They have beds, couches, sofas, shelves – they have everything." He turned his attention back to the piece of paper in his hands. "They also have a place called Martin's Market with a lot of food and groceries, an Eddie's Electronics with TVs, video games, and phones."

Kurt gasped, holding both of his hands to his heart and fluttering his eyes shut. "Oh, home sweet home…" he sighed, ecstatically and dramatically.

"So…we just go in there and ask for a TV, a fridge, some mattresses, and food?" Santana asked in curiosity. "They're not just going to hand this to us. We need money."

"Who says we need money?" The black-haired boy took the Jericho 941 out of his pocket, waving it aimlessly in his hand.

"Yeah, we didn't need money when we broke into Quick Buy," Kurt added.

"Maybe so," Santana responded, "but the police might still be on our asses. We're going to get caught here, and then we might have to relocate. And the thought of mattresses – as good as that sounds right now, we can't have one each. In fact, we can't get too much stuff at all, really. Think about it. If we do get caught, we would have to pack up all of our stuff, take the car, and then drive off. It would take us hell of a long time to prepare for that."

Santana had a good point. They didn't need to be slowed down by the cops and get arrested for stealing all the stuff they needed. What they needed the most was food and water. A mattress, although it could wait, was needed as well. The television, clothes, and other stuff would have to wait a while.

"Fine," Blaine replied. "We'll just steal food and water. Maybe a few toiletries will do. I mean, we can't just rot here and smell like mothballs, right?"

"What about clothes?" Kurt asked. "They'll recognize us in the clothes we have on now; but like Santana said, we can't pack too much stuff, either."

Nodding understandably, Santana walked over to the boys, moving her hands simultaneously. "Look, anything with blood on it, or anything that the police could use as evidence, we'll just burn it once we've gotten a new pair of clothes. I know it would probably take every store in the whole city, but we can't be caught. There's no exceptions."

There definitely was no exceptions. They can't afford to get arrested and sentenced for years. They've had enough of that crap. They wanted to have a better future, and not a worse one – which seemed pretty ironic to all three of the teenagers.

Blaine and Kurt took the stolen items into the house, busting in through one of the front windows. Santana, just about to follow them inside, turned back to the blonde. All this time, she had been listening to the three go back and forth, discussing the fact that they just robbed and killed someone. She listened to their plans on surviving without getting caught by the cops. No one really thought about getting her input on all of this.

The blonde stood there, her arms folded in front of her, shyly looking down every other second. She was always blank. She really didn't know how she felt about this whole situation. In fact, she didn't know how to feel in general. It's like she didn't have any feelings at all.

Just eyeing the poor girl made Santana concerned. "Brittany…" she spoke up with her sweetest voice possible, stepped towards her and putting a hand on her shoulder. She brought her hand up to her tousled hair put in a ponytail, and combed her hair back with her fingers. "What's wrong? You not feeling well?"

As usual, she didn't say anything. Usually, Santana was the only person that could lighten her spirits just a little – not much, but a little.

The porcelain girl felt the Latina's arm wrap behind her neck, her hands falling to her left arm and her fingers brushing over it. "I know you're not okay with this whole robbing people thing," the Latina said, looking Brittany in the eye. "Believe me, when we first left that orphan house, I didn't want to do it, either."

Brittany didn't reply. Her blue eyes just fell to the ground at the grass in the dark.

Santana brushed a strand of hair out of the girl's face. "Trust me. This'll benefit all of us. You wouldn't want to live with complete strangers, wouldn't you?"

The blonde wasn't sure if the two rapists she left years ago were strangers or not, but they sure did seem like it. Neither one of them loved her; they lay her down on a queen-sized bed with her pants and underwear off, jamming something warm and wet into her. When they were really mad at her or something, they'd go extremely fast, and it would hurt the poor girl. She'd cry, but softly because her father would always tell her to shut up with her _useless whining_ or whatever.

She neither wanted that nor an adoptive family. For all Brittany knew, they could be more rapists. Or they'd make her sell drugs to people or even kill someone. She didn't want to walk into another trap any one of those crappy adults had for her.

The brunette bent down a little just to look at the girl's blank face. She really wanted her to say something. She never said anything to anyone, not even her. Sure, she would have a smile on her face sometimes when Santana said or did something funny, but she wouldn't make a sound.

"I know, Brittany. It's really hard. I know it is." Santana brought her other arm up to hug the blonde. Her hand rubbed her arm continuously. The brunette laid her head on Brittany's shoulder. This action made Brittany's heart beat and her adrenaline rush. She was pretty positive that Santana was not like her parents were to her. She was able to trust her. She believed in anything she told her.

"We're going to have a nice life when we're working together, all four of us," Santana continued. "We can grow up together, leave Ohio, and make something wonderful of ourselves. I know we can. I'm going to help you." The brunette tapped the girl's nose slightly. "Those other guys, they don't care about you. I do. I want the best for you."

Brittany's head turned just a little, her cheek brushing against the girl's hair. It was so soft. She didn't know how she kept it like this for so long. It smelled so good, too.

"Come on, Brittany. We can do this. You'll be safe with me."

The Latina took her arms down from around the blonde and grabbed one of her hands. She, comforting, tugged her arm a little and beckoned her to come with her into the house. She was really confident in Brittany. She was such a sweet girl. What happened to her was unnecessary to the brunette. Who would rape an innocent little girl, and she didn't even do anything? If Santana were there, she'd kill both of her parents like her dad did to her mom.

Brittany felt a little something in her. Maybe…maybe this was going to be alright. She'll get to be with Santana, the one who knows for a fact that she'll be okay surviving out here.

She had such a shitty childhood. She didn't have anything compared to Santana, Blaine, and Kurt. No toys, no bed, no fun – nothing. Santana, she had a loving mother before she got killed. Blaine and Kurt, they had both a loving mother and father, but they also had an intruder in their lives – in Kurt's case, Patrick, and in Blaine's case, that crack-headed mob.

Out of all four refugees, Brittany has had it the worst. Hopefully, like Santana said, they'll have a wonderful life, whether it's in Ohio or not.

O-O-O-O-O

"Blaine. Can I ask you something?"

After putting their stuff up, the four had found two rooms to take a nap in. Kurt and Blaine had just laid out two big blankets in their room on the hard floor.

Kurt started getting a little nervous. When he was at the orphanage, he played all of the dress-up games with two other orphan girls. All based on New York, singing, being famous. He never realized how amazing having all of that would be like. He wanted all of that.

But…how _can_ he get that? He's in a house put up for sale that the four teenagers basically broke into, with some stolen items from random places. New York wouldn't accept him if the citizens there found out that he was a robber. He'll still get locked up either way.

"What is it?" Blaine asked, taking his hoodie off and revealing his yellow sweater. One more article of clothing – two, if you count the bowtie – and Kurt will be hyperventilating.

"Are you sure this idea's going to work?" Kurt's head suddenly sunk, his fingers tapping simultaneously in his lap. "I mean, don't get me wrong, we've stolen from people before and gotten away from it; however, they could…you know, get us this time."

Blaine shook his head, throwing his hoodie somewhere in the corner. "Ironic, isn't it?"

What the hell?

Did he just say that what Kurt said was _ironic_? Wasn't Blaine on his side at all?

"What do you mean?" the porcelain boy asked, taking off his black jacket and folding it neatly.

"Just in the car, you said that we should just move on. Now you're telling me that you're worrying about this? Kurt, please. We'll make it out of here."

"What if we don't?" Kurt felt his voice rising to the ceiling. He wasn't sure if Santana and Brittany heard him from their room. He could care less, though. He was as worried as hell. His life – mostly his future – was on the line for him. Instead of performing on Broadway, he'll probably be eating crap food in a jail cell. He didn't know what to think of this whole experience.

Blaine was alarmed by Kurt's sudden exclamation. He never saw this side of Kurt before. He sounded like his throat was sore, and he was going to cry or something.

"Look, we've been in hell for all of our lives – well, almost all. We kinda had some decent stuff between the two of us – still, I don't want to be in the back of a police car heading off to some guarded area with a whole bunch of prison freaks."

Blaine shook his head again. "Kurt, you're worrying too much," he replied. "You're here with me and Santana and Brittany, not that fucktard your mother was with earlier in her life. What's there to worry about?"

"How can I be able to trust you guys?" Kurt asked, standing up from his spot on the floor and pacing a little. He never really thought of that until he stepped foot into this house. Blaine and Santana did know what they were doing, and Brittany was as innocent as a kitten; but for all Kurt knew, they could be evil little demons. They'll probably torture him or something.

"Sure, I've known you for, like, ten years. We never really talked much; we just went to a soup kitchen for a few months since we've left the orphanage, and then we went on this journey. That doesn't mean I fully know what you guys are really after. I could be held hostage for something."

"Okay, right now, you're acting ridiculous," Blaine responded. "I brought you guys out here because you agreed with me on the fact that we hate how our childhoods and we want to do something about it. I'm not here to torture you."

"I just don't feel safe anymore, Blaine." Kurt shook his head in guilt. "We just killed three people just a few hours ago, and the police is on the look-out for us."

"So we killed three people," Blaine said. "It's not like the police actually knows who we are. They just said three teenagers killed those people. They don't have real evidence on who we are."

"They might. We may have left evidence leading up to where we are."

Blaine scoffed. He was getting sick and tired of Kurt's petty complaining. It's like he doesn't really want this. Like he doesn't want revenge on the guy who made Kurt's mother kill herself. What the hell was with him? Was he lying about the fact that he wanted to join Blaine in this?

"Okay, you must not understand our motives here then."

"What?"

"Do you know how long it's been since the two of us have been with our families without any crap going down whatsoever? Too damn long. That dude that was with your mother, and that fat ass boy and his dad that was with my brother and father, they did this to us. Ever since they came into our lives, everything's turned to shit. And we had to suffer. Why suffer when we rebel and get our revenge? That's why I led you guys out here."

_Rebel and get our revenge_, Kurt wondered. _That's our motive? They're sent to jail or something, jackass. We've already gotten our revenge._

"And you know goddamn well that we didn't have anything ever since we left. We needed to take care of ourselves still. That's why we steal things."

"So, this is how we rebel and get revenge on our lives – by just stealing from people? Oh, and while we're at it, let's shoot three random people and get away with like no one's even watching –"

"Santana started it all; it wasn't my intention to do what just happened back at Quick Buy. But in a way, we kind of needed those guns anyway because whether we kill someone or not, we need our money somehow."

What the hell was wrong with this guy? That's not at all the Blaine Anderson that Kurt knew. Sure, he had that same frown on certain occasions, but he wasn't at all like this.

And besides that, all Kurt can think of right now is the suicide of his own mother, and the car crash of his own father. He hated to see people get hurt, especially when it has something to do with the ones he loves. For Blaine to actually _agree_ with what they were going for – hell, was he losing his mind?

"I didn't come out here just to injure helpless people; I came out here because I didn't want to be separate from you and the girls. That's it! And while you're so laid-back with this situation we got ourselves into, remind yourself that this is only making us worse people than whoever fucked up our childhoods. What you call _getting revenge_, I call _becoming criminals_!"

Blaine, after keeping his arms folded in front of his chest for a good while, threw them up helplessly. "Fine. If you want to be such a wimp about it, then we'll just take you back to Lima."

Kurt's jaw dropped. Was he really doing this? He already said that he didn't want to be separated from him, Brittany, and Santana, and now the fool was going to bring him back to the place where all of this shit started?

"And then if you ever do get caught by the police, be reminded that we were the ones trying to protect all four of us, and not holding you hostage or whatever like you said."

The porcelain boy watched as Blaine took his shoes, sweater, and tie off, putting it over to the side, and resting on the thick, comfy blanket in nothing but his jeans, socks, and a short-sleeved undershirt. He shook his head, furiously watching the boy getting comfortable on the blanket and not giving a crap on what Kurt was thinking.

_If that's what he wants, then fine_, Kurt thought. Lima was his home anyway. He didn't care if he got caught or not. At least things will be recognizable. If he didn't get caught, he could enroll himself in a college, get a degree in theater and business, and get a career as a fashion designer and a Broadway actor.

He didn't necessarily need these people. He's an independent boy. He can work on his own. Let those three get arrested for all he cared, but he was actually going to do something good with his life, with or without the other three runaways.

"Fine then," he finally spoke up just as Blaine laid on the large blanket by himself. "I'll just return to Lima, making a difference in my life and doing good deeds, while the three of you rot in a prison cell, being watched by some buff ass police officer!"

Tired of going back and forth with this boy, Kurt laid on the other side of the blanket, after taking off his shoes, and drifted on to sleep.

* * *

"So, he's really bailing out on this?"

Blaine and Santana were the first ones awake, had just strolled into the kitchen, took some Sprite and drank some of it with the red solo cups they found in the trunk of the car.

The Latina couldn't believe what he was hearing. Kurt was actually going to give up on this journey they were going on just because he's too _scared_ – or whatever Blaine said – that he'll get caught by the police. Santana knew there was a soft side to him. It took only a matter of time to figure it out.

"I kept on telling him that this is an advantage for us," Blaine explained, sipping some more of the Sprite in his cup, "but he just wouldn't listen."

Santana shook her head, disappointed. She would expect that tone to come out of Brittany's mouth – well, if she would speak, that is – but Kurt? Out of all people, he wants out of this.

Maybe Blaine was right about him being a wimp – well, Santana thought.

"What do we do with him? Do we just drive on back to Lima and leave him at the orphanage –"

"No. He'd be too old to admit back in there. And even if he wasn't, someone could easily recognize him and say that he was one of the killers that was in the Quick Buy store we robbed the other day. Plus, we would have to drive miles and miles to Lima, and then back here. I'm not keeping my eyes open all night for you guys like I did last night."

Santana scoffed. "Get over it, Jerry Gelatin. If you didn't know how to drive – or at least attempted driving that old, raggedy thing – we wouldn't be out here right now," she said, turning around to get a closer look of the kitchen, "which, by the way, is looking really sexy right now."

The girl couldn't lie; the place looked nice for something that wasn't burned down or didn't have bugs and rats crawling around. She'll never figure out how Blaine found this place, but it sure did look neat to her. If it were a little bigger, with a second floor and an extra bedroom, they could steal a TV, two game consoles – a Nintendo Wii and an XBox 360 or something – and a couch, and have their own entertainment room or something.

The black-haired boy shrugged. "Yeah, it's pretty nice."

"Pretty nice? It's sweet as hell, and no critters. I call that a bonus."

At that moment, a sleepy-headed Kurt Hummel walked in the room, rubbing his eyes with his balled-up hands. He felt like he was suffering through such a hangover, but this time, no alcohol – although that did sound good right about now.

Blaine and Santana folded their arms at the porcelain boy. Their facial expressions turned from amazed at the abandoned house they found to stern at the chestnut-haired boy.

"What?" Kurt asked in a sleepy tone.

"So, you figure out how you're getting out of here?" Blaine asked with a serious tone.

Kurt pointed towards the front door. "Uh, the car."

"No chance, Pixie Boy," the Latina spoke up. "You can take a cab, a train, or just walk on your own pretty two feet, but you're not taking our car. It's only for people who really want this as much as I do."

"So, you guys aren't really taking me back to Lima, but you want me to go on my own and get myself in trouble?"

"You said yourself that _you're_ returning to Lima, and _you're_ going to make a difference in your life and do good deeds," Blaine explained, "and we're allowing you to do that."

"Yeah, but before that, I said I didn't want to be separated from you guys."

"Must've changed your mind then."

Blaine and Santana were really going against him on this, particularly over everything they've been through? How could Kurt bring himself to the conclusion that he was friends with these two? They're just turning their backs on him. If Kurt had known they were going to do that, then he wouldn't have ever joined them in all of this.

Feeling betrayed by these two, the boy frowned and started back to the boys' room. Before he made it there, though, Brittany made it out of her room. She overheard the three talk back and forth about Kurt leaving, and was all of a sudden startled by it. She had to know what was going on.

The brunette turned her head towards her. "Hey, sleepy head. You're awake."

She took steps towards her and put her hand on Brittany's shoulder. The blonde turned her head to Kurt. He looked back at her. The girl was so shy and confused. This is probably what little kids look like when their mothers and fathers get divorced or something.

Brittany didn't want Kurt to leave. Other than Santana, he was the only other one here that was positive about what they should be doing. On the contrary, Santana _did_ say that she'd care for her more than any of the boys would. She'd always trust her. It would just be unfortunate to lose Kurt.

Santana followed Brittany's gaze towards Kurt, and lost her smile for just a minute, still not believing how much of a bitch Kurt was being.

"Don't worry, Britt. He'll be okay on his own, I'm sure. You'll be safe with us."

Kurt watched as Santana gave the girl a hug, rubbing her arm up and down continuously. Then he turned to Blaine, whom shot the same stern look Santana did.

_So I guess this is it then_, Kurt thought unfortunately.

The boy turned to his room and grabbed his jacket and shoes, getting ready to go.

O-O-O-O-O

"Alright, we're here."

Blaine had driven Santana and Brittany to The Home Place that Blaine was talking about. It was a little big, but still had the stuff they needed. They had already parked in a parking space that was close to the door.

Santana, folding her arms, looked up at the place from outside her passenger window, and then down at her still-stained tank top. She couldn't imagine going in there with people believing that she was a killer or something.

"So, how am I supposed to go in there?" the Latina asked. "I need another shirt, Blaine. This one still has blood stains from yesterday. And I won't allow Brittany to get in trouble for all of us."

"She joined us in all of this. So why not?"

"I'm telling you, Blaine. I'm not having her taken away from us." Santana sounded a little worried, thinking of what they would do with Brittany if the police came to arrest them. God, if they put their dirty little hands on her, she'll go Lima Heights on those guys' asses. "Besides, she can watch out for us. I mean, someone's gotta see if the cops are coming, and Kurt's obviously not here with us."

Hesitating, Blaine turned back to the blonde sitting comfortably in the back. She looked up for just one second and looked back down, picking at her fingers.

For some odd reason, Blaine creeped her out a little. Every time, he'll give that kind of stare where it looks like he'll shoot you if you said anything terrible or something. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore. He was haunting her in her day dreams. She wanted Santana to come back here and cradle her in her arms.

Rolling his eyes, the black-haired boy hopped out of the car, closing and locking it, and heading over to a clothing store called Number Ones to find Santana a shirt.

The Latina turned back to the blonde and smiled. She looked so anxious back there. She needed more assurance.

"See there? I told you you'd be safe with me."


	3. Part 2a

**Chapter Two – Embracing the Now**

Number Ones seemed to be one of the freshest-looking clothing stores in this area of Forest, Ohio. It was impressive how such luxury items can be sold in an area that looks to have almost nothing at all.

Not that many people were here in the store today, though – approximately two hundred and fifty. It was an advantage, though. The less people that lurked in the stores of Forest, Ohio, the more opportunity it gave the three runaways to grab themselves a couple of items for their stay.

Blaine had just entered the store, shooting glances in no particular location. He just had to find Santana a new shirt so people won't see her as the girl with the bloody tank top. They were so close to getting a couple of mattresses from The Home Place – gee whiz, they were so close! They could've done this earlier, dealt with the fact that the clothes were used as evidence to the police into finding their hideout. They wouldn't have to face so many security cameras and get busted by a couple of men in uniforms.

All of that didn't matter now, though. Now, they had to retrieve supplies for their – well, their new _home_, even though, eventually, they might have to move out due to issues with the law. Now, they had to get themselves fed and energized. Now – now Blaine had to stop thinking so much.

He found it awkward being in the women's wear section of the store. He really hoped – too late; a nine-year-old and her older sister just spotted him. Well, Blaine could care less what girl or woman stared at him as he trolled around the area. He just wanted Santana off his back for once. Maybe they won't kill anyone anytime soon, and they won't have to keep robbing clothing places to get rid of the bloody contents.

He passed an area with old lady dresses and found some jeans. _How come Santana didn't tell me her size at all_, Blaine wondered. Santana was so…well, small to him. Maybe a medium-sized pair of jeans and a small-sized T-Shirt. It's not like Santana weighs any more than that anyway.

He grabbed a random pair of blue jeans, and headed on to the area with the women's tops. A white Roca Wear T-Shirt with black, long sleeves hung at the end of a rack. It looked to be a nice fit for the Latina, and the sequins on the logo seemed pretty satisfying.

He then wondered about Brittany. Would she need something to wear? She never escaped the vehicle on the day those guys got killed. Still, it would please both girls if the blonde got some good treatment, too. One thing's for sure: he didn't want to have to deal with pouting and bickering once he got back.

After grabbing a random blue tank top and ripped blue jeans, Blaine headed to the men's clothing area. The best he could for himself was a short-sleeved red polo, a black bowtie, and some black capris. It wasn't as difficult finding himself clothes as it was for two females. They had to be so tricky sometimes; he couldn't understand how girls have to be that picky when it came to fashion.

Well, Kurt was that way, too. But he's gone now, and he made his decision to walk out on them. So, he didn't care.

Now the hardest part: getting out of the store and into the car.

If he just walked on through the front door, he'd be caught by the security guard – or cameras, whichever one – and he wouldn't be able to get out. But he didn't see another exit, either. And he needed something to carry all of this stuff. He should've thought about getting some bags from the house.

This was one of the worst things about robbing a store alone. Santana had that bloody shirt on, and she'd be suspect to getting arrested. Brittany, helpless and shy, won't get out without Santana's permission – and Santana wouldn't sacrifice her for anything. And Kurt – gosh, if only Kurt was there – he could've at least helped him before he left.

Wait – why was Blaine thinking about Kurt _now_? He chose to walk out. He didn't want to get in trouble and be runaway bad asses like he and the girls were. He's in the past now; he can move on from him.

_What's going on now, Blaine_, he wondered as his eyes darted in multiple directions. _Think about what's going on now. Not what could've happened or what had happened; think about what's going on now._ He repeated that so many times that he lost focus. He needed out of here.

He stepped over into a men's fitting room and placed the clothes in one of the empty booths. He hung the clothes on the two hooks that attached to the wall, and the bowtie on the bench next to him. He had three pairs of pants, two pairs of shirts, and an accessory ready to get out of the store, but he still needed help. What else could he do other than just leave with everything?

He had the gun in his pocket. He felt the texture of it as he fumbled with it just a little in his pocket. He didn't want to use it, though. A lot of people and security cameras were out there. The last thing he wanted was to get caught before they even got themselves a mattress. Sleeping on that cold, hard floor was too much to deal with, especially since they've been seated in the car for so many hours last night.

His left hand rose to a price tag that attached to the T-Shirt he intended on giving Santana. After staring at it for just a couple of seconds, he ripped the little piece of paper off. He did the same with the other articles of clothing. No one would know if he purchased those items or not – well, they almost wouldn't.

An ink tag was attached to all three pairs of pants. If he ever planned on escaping with those still on, he'd be caught for sure. He had no idea in hell how to take those off or why people put those on in the first place. It was probably triggered to catch anyone who stole whatever article of clothing it was.

Damn clothing stores and their overprotective employees.

Blaine wasn't going to fret on it much. He just took the three shirts off their hangers, folded them, and stuck them inside his hoodie. He slipped the bowtie into his other pocket. Hopefully, someone walking past him will be mistaken for a fat guy looking to lose weight or something like that.

He walked out of the fitting room, searching for a place to get out. A back entrance was available, but it was an emergency door. He was stuck inside. He had no other choice but to go out the front way.

But would the shirts make it out okay, is the question.

He, checking himself before he walked any further, strolled on to the front of the store past the security guard. Before he made it around the security walkway, hoping that this extra idea would work, he tied his shoe, bending down and leaning against the wall near the door. The shirts were kept safe on the inside of his hoodie, thank goodness. Now he had to find out what happens next, and expect what's coming to him.

His head shot up to the two doors. He only had one shot to do this. He couldn't run, or he'd make it too obvious. But he can't go slow, either; they'd catch him for sure. No one watched him at this point. Maybe it was okay. Maybe he should just go ahead and –

Man, he worried too much.

He stood up finally, and walked out the door. No one saw him go out, nor did any security alarm go off. Perfect.

He found Santana and Brittany in the car, drawing pictures on a random sheet of paper they found in the glove compartment. Blaine thought that those two had it easier than he did. At least they didn't have to deal with more like he had to. Well, Santana did assist a lot, but most of the time, she'd end up killing people. That had to be prevented before someone caught onto them.

"I got them," he said, hopping into the car and slipping the three shirts through his hoodie, keeping an eye out for any outdoor security cameras. The black and white shirt, he tossed it to Santana; the blue tank, he handed it to Brittany; and the red polo and the black hoodie, he put in the seat behind him.

The Latina, climbing out of the passenger door and getting into the back, took a closer look at what he stole. Maybe he _was_ good at shoplifting, better than she ever thought. "Gold star, Curly Joe," she said, impressed.

"Just one problem, though," Blaine spoke up.

Santana's eyebrows furrowed. "What problem?"

"I had pants, too," he explained, "but there are these tan things on there, and I can't get them off. They're probably for security."

The brunette suddenly scoffed, thinking about how protective those fools in the clothing store were as she slipped off her jean jacket and white tank top. She never noticed one second that Brittany was looking down at her. She was so…thin, and her breasts were so full and round, whether she had a bra on or not.

Brittany shot glances at the girl's upper body, and quickly back to the blue tank top in her lap. For the first time, she felt insecure and attracted at the same time. Mostly, she was insecure because of all the things that happened to her. Her mother always told her she was an ugly baby, and that her face would be perfect to mop the floor with. Then her father would tell her to keep her mouth shut, because her voice was as bland and disgusting as green tea.

My God, she's taken so much crap. She hated feeling this way. She wanted to feel – and actually _be_ – pretty like her Latina friend was. She wanted to care less about people talking about her voice and her little, porcelain face. She never had the confidence to know that she was a wonderful human being; she felt as if she was trapped in a well, all dark inside with no one to help her, and no way to get out.

Santana never felt that way. She had a lot of confidence. Her mother taught her that. She had a wonderful mother – well, before her dad killed her and all. Brittany bet her mother was just as pretty as she was, as well as secure with herself and brave enough to face all odds. She wanted to feel that way. She wanted to be pretty, secure, and inspiring like Santana and so many other people in the world.

But how can she be that when she feels like shit all of the time?

"I still don't understand how these people have to be so…so –"

"That's what I thought."

The Latina and the black-haired boy went back and forth about how frustrated they were about what Blaine said about the security tags. Pants weren't really necessary for them right now, but they could be.

"So, we going back there to get them, or –"

"I'd say no. Not really. Shirts are more important. I mean, we could possibly kill another person someday. Right now, we need two mattresses."

The Latina slipped into the shirt, the article of clothing fitting nicely on her slim body. "Why two? Wouldn't one just work?"

Blaine shook his head. "We won't get away fast enough."

Santana brought her knees up to her chest, attempting to get up off the floor and then opening the back door so she can get out, with Brittany handing her the black jean jacket. The blonde changed out of her shirt and put on the blue tank top Blaine offered her. Like Santana's shirt, the blue tank fit nicely on the porcelain girl's body.

"Fine then," Santana finally spoke as Blaine got out of the car. "We'll steal the two mattresses, and take them all back to the house."

"We can get just one, or decide to get another later on. It would be in our best interest if we get one, though."

"You said we should get two mattresses."

"That was before when Kurt was here. He's gone. Besides, the mattress will be big enough for all three of us, hopefully."

Blaine took a couple of steps towards The Home Place. Brittany started to walk, but Santana grabbed onto her, still standing in her spot. "Uh, no way, Curly Stooge," she called to the black-haired boy. "I don't share rooms with other guys unless I'm fucking them, and I'm definitely not going to feed my donut to you, okay?"

Brittany looked in another direction, trying to fight off her silent laugh.

Blaine groaned and turned to the brunette. "Well, what do you want me to do? I need to sleep comfortably, too. In fact, I've worked harder than the both of you put together –"

Santana rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Calm down." Why did Blaine want to do this now? Out of all the other possible times, it just had to be now. Fine, we'll share it, alright? Me and Britts will take Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You can take Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Then we can just take every other Sunday. I know it sounds stupid or whatever, but you're right. We can't stall much longer. Let's go."

With about fifteen steps away, the three made it in the store and looked around for the section with the mattresses. Blaine led the way, and Santana and Brittany followed. There were about five stacks of mattresses in the back somewhere in the store. Unfortunately, they were a little tricky to get down; seven mattresses sat in each pile, and the three didn't want to strain themselves getting it down.

"Now what do we do?" Santana asked Blaine. Just when she thought this was going to be easy, there's another roadblock.

"Ask an employee?"

"And how do we get away with that?"

Blaine just shot her the stale face. _How the hell does she not know_, he wondered. He pulled a little bit of the gun out of his pocket, making sure no one saw him with it, but so Santana could see.

Playfully rolling her eyes and smirking, Santana reached for the gun in her bag. "Of course."

A man with a green shirt with The Home Place logo walked over to them, and the two quickly hid their guns, ready for action.

"How may I help you guys?" the employee asked. He had a few golden hairs on his bald head. He had a slight muffin top, and that awkward, somewhat pedophile-like smile on his face. God, it creeped Santana the fuck out. She couldn't help but think of Brittany getting raped by _this_ guy instead of her father.

Blaine looked the guy in the eye. _He wouldn't know what hit him_, he thought. The man looked so gullible and slow. With that stomach of his, he probably wouldn't make it to the security guys or the employees at the front desk fast enough. He's what the three needed to _help_ them out.

"Yeah, we need a mattress," the black-haired teenager spoke up.

"Okay. Would you like to know the price?"

Blaine and Santana shot looks at each other. They both thought the same thing: _fuck the price, just take the merchandise_.

"No, we need help getting one down," Blaine replied, "and we need help taking it to our car outside, if you don't mind."

Santana stood just about behind Blaine, the same evil smirk spread on her face. She almost snicker at that employee guy. The only thing that stood on her mind was what that dude was going to look like when she and Blaine pulls their guns out at that guy. _That bitch_, she quipped in her mind. _We're so gonna get him_.

The man didn't move to get a mattress, though. He stood there, talking with Blaine still. "Aren't you going to take it to the front and pay for it?"

_Thank fucking God_.

"I don't think that's necessary," Santana claimed, sticking her hand in her bag.

"What do you –"

"Let's just say that we're running behind schedule, shall we?" The black-haired boy took his Jericho 941 out of his pocket, holding it low enough and close to the employee so security cameras – or any other customers – wouldn't see them. Santana did the same, stepping beside Blaine with the gun in her hand.

The employee started stuttering, feeling terrified of what they just might do. "No, no, no –"

"Enough small talk, cupcake man," Santana said, stepping forward towards him. "We don't have enough time for this bullshit, do you hear me? I believe my buddy here asked you to retrieve a mattress from one of those stacks right there, and take it to his car. And I know for a damn well fact that, anything he says is what everyone does."

The employee got scared of her for just a second. He kept stuttering and breathing heavily in between Santana's sentences. Sweat started rolling down his almost-bald forehead down to his neck. The smell of the man was so foul; Santana could smell the stench going into her nose. It's like she swallowed it from her nose, and that she was going to throw up. _Fuck, he had better do this_.

"Now, you've got five seconds to get us what we want," she continued, "or you die a virgin."

"H – How –"

"I assumed because you seem to act as cheesy, and look halfway as big as Barney – maybe that yellow friend of his, whoever the fuck he is."

That guy was always ashamed to talk about his love life. Never dated anyone in high school, never had sex, never got married or had kids – hell, haven't even kissed anyone – and he's _thirty-one_!

Santana still stood there, holding the gun by her waist and staring up at the man. "Now, you're going to get your ass over there, take down a mattress for us, and take it to our car," she added. "And if anyone asks, we ordered it online already."

Blaine had his gun by his side, getting ready to pull the trigger. He knew he shouldn't do it, being that other people were around. But this man wasn't even doing anything, and they were _really_ wasting time.

The employee was panicking inside. He needed a miracle. He didn't hope for this. This wasn't on his to-do list, for him to be held up by two people that were going to kill him if he didn't do as told. The blonde girl just stood there, watching the scene. He didn't know who she was, but he assumed that she was a part of this. Thank goodness she didn't have a gun on her.

Carefully as he could, he stepped towards the mattresses and reached for one. Blaine and Santana followed his direction with the guns at their sides, almost ready to shoot the man in the fat stomach. He had just grabbed a corner of a top mattress that sat on one stack, when –

"Tim, I got someone at the area with the desks who –"

A redheaded man with a bushy red beard had come over, wearing the same green shirt the close-to-bald man, identified as Tim, at the mattresses. He saw the two teenagers standing in front of him. Blaine's gun was visible in the redheaded man's vision.

His eyes bugged out of his head. "Oh shit!" he yelled. He started for the other side of the store.

"Santana, get him!"

With Blaine's order, Santana ran after the redheaded man, aiming her gun at him and shooting him in the back of the head. He fell onto his knees and eventually face down on the floor. Blood spewed out from the back of his head, and got on the floor, on his neck, and on his shirt.

By the time Santana made it over to him, a few customers had noticed the gun in her hand and started to freak out. She looked up at them and aimed the gun at them. "The fuck are you all looking at?" she yelled at them.

"Santana, what the hell?" Blaine called from about thirty steps away. His gun was still aimed at Tim.

Tim had gotten the mattress down from the stack, and was now holding his hands up, shaking and panicking even more. "I – I got it! Can I take it to your – please don't shoot me, please!" he cried to Blaine, who held his gun up so it was in the direction of his head.

"Go on, take it to the car! Go!"

Tim took the mattress and walked out of the back entrance. Blaine handed the gun to Brittany, who looked around, clueless and frightened. "Here, follow him with this, and make sure he gets it to the car," he told the blonde girl.

She was walking a little slowly, but she eventually made it to Tim, and followed him outside.

Blaine ran over to Santana, literally shaking her shoulders to free the beast that was breaking havoc in her brain. "What the hell were thinking? I didn't say shoot him, I said –"

"Then what would be the purpose of –"

They both saw two security guards come towards them, getting ready to take them to the back room so the police could get them. "Okay, you two," the first one spoke, "put your hands in the air, and let's not have any trouble."

Santana turned in his direction, with one hand on her hip and the other containing the Jericho 941. "Like hell, I am."

"Santana –"

"We'll be forced to call the police if you don't –"

"Try me."

She aimed the gun at the first security guard and pulled the trigger twice. He fell onto his back and leaked blood from his stomach. The second security guard ran towards her, trying to retrieve the gun from her hand. Santana was struggling to get her arm free.

"Let me the fuck go!" She felt the man's left foot step on her right. She just wanted to bust this guy in the face.

While this was going on, another employee, a bald black man in a green shirt ran over and put Blaine's hands behind his back, trying to pull him away. "Come on," he spoke, dragging Blaine away from the scene going on. "We're calling 9-1-1 on you."

"Get your ass off me!"

"Blaine!"

Both teenagers were struggling, their blood pressure going up and their foreheads getting fiercely warm. The only thing they thought now was if Brittany made it to the car okay with Tim and the mattress – or did he call the police on her, too? If he did, the two hoped Brittany took the mattress away and shot him good in the head.

Blaine freed his hands and darted towards the guard, but the employee caught him in his grasp again. He was strangely strong for his size. He started to push Blaine down on the ground and press his knee down on his back so he can hold him down until –

A distance away, a gunshot went off and the black employee fell to the floor.

"Kurt!"

The porcelain boy had come back for the two. He had his Browning High-Power automatic handgun in handy, thank God. Everything was so silent at the moment. No one moved. Kurt turned his head for a second, spotting an elderly woman holding her hands up, preventing herself from getting shot.

Kurt didn't say anything. He held his handgun up at the customers as he made his way towards Blaine and Santana.

The Latina sighed in relief. "Thank God."

The security guard was still grabbing her, attempting to take the gun away from her. "All three of you are going to be under arrest if you don't –"

"Since when?" Kurt asked, stepped around the guard that got shot. "Do you have a badge that says you're a part of a troop of policemen? Do you have a contract saying that you were qualified for being in the police force? Do you have handcuffs and a walkie-talkie on you? Do you have any of that stuff, sir?"

The guard looked back at him and shook his head. "No, but I –"

"Am going to die."

Kurt brought his gun up to the guy's head, Santana moving out of the way, and pulled the trigger. The guard fell to the floor, the blood getting on the set of drawers behind him.

The chestnut-haired boy brought Santana's hand up, with the Jericho 941 contained. "Anyone who even tries me will get shot in the fucking face!" Kurt yelled at the customers around the store. They all looked at him with terrified eyes, all holding their hands in the hair.

Blaine looked dead at Kurt in surprise. Thank God he came to save him and Santana; otherwise, they won't be able to get out, and Brittany will be out there by herself. It's like Kurt was trying to save the world – only that the world was Blaine, Brittany, and Santana.

No one spoke after that. Kurt offered his hand to Blaine, trying to help him up. He gave him that _don't mention it_ face as his hand reached for Blaine's. He got up on his two feet and looked around at the hostages around in the store. One of them was a nine-year-old boy who was terrified at the chestnut-haired boy and hiding behind his mother.

Kurt and Santana held their guns up as they headed towards the entrance, with Blaine following their gaze. They knew that the police were watching because of some of the security guards gazing at them, but they had control. They controlled this place. No one was going to get them.

"_Kurt_," Santana whispered, spotting one of the cameras in the corner of her eye. "_What do we do about the –_" She pointed her elbow at the camera she was looking at, and Kurt followed her gaze. He stared dead in its soul.

He remembered an hour ago when he told Blaine about being worried about the police. He thought about it all night, all night of what it would be like to be handcuffed and sent over to the prison to live with other criminals. When he left the house earlier that day, he felt so relieved to get away from them – Blaine, Santana, and even _Brittany_. He really wanted to have a wonderful life of his own.

But he knew that the other three were going to get themselves in more trouble. He ended up following them here – Jesus, that was the long way; good thing he hitched a ride on that guy's pick-up truck to get here. Once he got there, the first thing he saw was the three heading on in The Home Place. He had been hiding behind some shelves to keep an eye on them.

Once he heard the redheaded guy shout, he had to run over and see what was going on. At that time, when Blaine and Santana were being tied down, he came to the rescue.

After that little action, Kurt could care less about getting caught. _Fuck those dirty cops_, he thought as he still stared at the camera. _You hurt my friends, and I'll hurt your ass_.

He slowly brought his handgun up to the camera and shot it three times, making sure it was useless down to the core. Santana jumped a little inside when the gun went off. Everyone else was panicking. Kurt stood there, calm and still not saying anything. He wanted every security camera down.

"Blaine, find the back room and shut down all of these fucking security cameras. Then get the tapes out and discard them," the porcelain boy told the black-haired boy. He had left at an instant, more determined to get out of here than ever.

Santana cocked an eyebrow at the porcelain boy. "Good looking out, Hummel," she acknowledged, still holding her gun up.

A few minutes after, Blaine had come out and holding a handful of tapes in his hands, all containing footage of the three hostages. "I got them," Blaine declared, his hands full.

Kurt and Santana led the way out, still holding their guns at hostages. By the time they made it to the door, Kurt turned back to everyone with the most serious facial expression. "If anyone – and I mean anyone – tries to call the cops on us, we're gonna find out who did it, and I'll shoot your asses! Do you hear me?"

Everyone furiously nodded, feeling the nerves taking over their bodies.

Blaine and Santana headed on out the door, taking the tapes to the car and checking to see if Tim and Brittany were still out there at the car. Kurt looked back at everyone, making sure they got the idea. He didn't want to have what happened at Quick Buy come back again. He finally turned around and left the store.

He followed Blaine and Santana to the car, where Tim and Brittany had just placed the mattress in the back seat. Brittany was still holding the gun up at him, shaking nervously until Santana came near her and took the gun away, handing it back to Blaine.

"You pack it well in there?" Santana asked Tim, holding her gun at him.

"Y – Yes, ma'am. It's – It's in there, ready for you guys to go."

Kurt leaned towards Blaine, his eyes still on Tim. "_You had to ask him, of all the ideas you had?_"

Sure it was a random, crazy idea; but at least it worked.

"Now get on out of here," Santana told the close-to-bald man. "And if I find out that you called the police on us, I _will_ shoot you in your fat old stomach. Do you understand me?"

Tim was getting even more scared. Can he just get out of here and head on home, staying with his sister and two kids instead of having two – perhaps three – guns aimed for his chest?

"Y – Yes, I understand."

Blaine and Santana lowered their guns, their eyes still fixed on Tim. The man walked away slowly, still terrified by what happened to him. He went on in the store, not saying a word after that.

O-O-O-O-O

The four were in the car, driving on home. Blaine was at the wheel again, Kurt was in the passenger's seat, and Santana was in the back with Brittany sitting in her lap. She cradled her in her arms, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. She was so anxious to be holding a gun, almost having to shoot a bullet at that Tim guy. Santana couldn't believe she was able to pull that off; but damn Blaine for having to put her through that experience.

The car was quiet as always. No one really said anything moments after they killed someone or robbed a place.

Blaine wanted to break the silence. He wanted to thank Kurt for what he did. If it weren't for him, he and Santana would be dead. Brittany, maybe; she had the other gun anyways, and was about to shoot a muffin-top guy in the head. Poor girl was so clueless and reserved.

How _was_ he going to thank Kurt for this? He can't just say, "_Thank you, Kurt. I needed you_," or something like that. They had an argument last night, which Kurt might not forgive him for. He also can't say, "_You really shouldn't have done that._" It'll make it look like he's still mad at Kurt or something. He wasn't mad at him; he was relieved.

His hands still on the wheel, his eyes turned to their corners, spotting Kurt sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest. "Thanks for saving our asses back there."

It was silent for another moment. Was Kurt still mad at him? Was he going to take some kind of control on him?

He still didn't say anything. Blaine just continued to look ahead and drive. But at a split second, Kurt started to open his mouth. "You owe me, though. Since I 'saved your asses', you have to promise to save mine in situations like this."

"Deal."

"I'm serious, Blaine. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Kurt. I hear you."

"I just want to be sure you're really sincere, what you just said –"

"I _am_ sincere," Blaine protested. "Why don't you trust me?"

Kurt looked straight ahead. The day was still clear, and the roads were surrounded by trees and shrubs, as always. It was Forest, Ohio after all.

"I thought about our talk last night."

Blaine knew pretty well that Kurt was still pissed about that. They did kind of go back and forth on that for a while. He felt so guilty to have to kick him out, just as Kurt was guilty to say he didn't want a part of this anymore. The truth was, Kurt was an important part in this whole mission. He was one of the back-up – maybe more than that – person that would assist when the other three got in trouble or something.

Sure Kurt was uncomfortable about the whole idea, being there would be a lot of dead bodies in the process, but…the group still needed him.

"Look, I know that you're still upset –"

"Slightly."

Blaine nodded understandably. "But when I told you that you could go back to Lima, I…I honestly felt guilty of myself."

The porcelain boy brought his right hand to his hair, curling a strand with his index finger as he looked himself in the side-view mirror. "How so? Looks like you actually _wanted_ me out of there."

"It may seem that way," Blaine said, turning on the road. "But…well, we really need you. I felt guilty, I'm serious. If you hadn't come, we would've been locked up, and we won't get to see you again. Then I'd regret everything I said to you. I still regret it. I never meant what I said to you."

Kurt rolled his eyes as he looked out the window at the many rows of trees they've past. Blaine didn't hear him respond, but assumed that what he said was unbelievable.

"I know you don't believe me at all," Blaine added, "but when your mind settles on my explanation, I hope you'll come back to me and trust me." He turned his head for a second at the chestnut-headed boy. "Will you at least promise me that, Kurt?"

Kurt just shrugged after that. "Maybe."

Blaine sighed and then looked ahead on the road. A maybe sometimes meant yes, but Blaine was thinking that it meant a no. Now that they got Kurt back, it was all mediocre, minimal five-word sentences with him. It was going to take more than asking about a promise to get him back the way he was.

Maybe he'll come around sometime.

While he was driving, he heard Santana talk to the blonde sitting on her lap. "_You hear that, Britt-Britt?_" the brunette whisper, smirking at the look on Blaine's face through the rearview mirror. "_He's desperate_."

"What makes you think so?" Blaine asked, turning again on the road.

"Look at yourself," Santana said, pointing to the rearview mirror.

Blaine scoffed, keeping his eyes on the road. "_Fuck your logic_."

Santana shook her head, smiling at him and then at Brittany. She brought her hand up to Brittany's ponytail and smoothed it out for her. "_He won't know what hit him_."

Brittany tried so hard not to smile because Blaine was up there ignoring Santana's quips. She couldn't get over how hilarious the Latina was, though. She was the funniest person she's ever known. Even when it was offensive, she can still tickle the quiet blonde.

Blaine suddenly had this laugh coming out of his mouth. "Kinda awkward, isn't it? You spend more time talking to Brittany than the two of us, Santana," Blaine spoke with his hands on the wheel. "Do you think that there could, uh, you know…"

Santana deadpanned at the boy from the back of his head. "Don't do that. Please don't do that," she responded. "Sure, Brittany's my friend, but I'm not like that with her. I'm not trying to be like her stupid father, the one that's trashy and dirty down there. I don't do that; I respect her. Maybe you could try it sometime – and I don't mean hand her a gun to aim at a fool's head."

"What was I supposed to do?" Blaine asked. "Somebody had to get the mattress to the car, and you had shot a guy. I couldn't keep up with the both of you."

"But you could hand her gun, expecting that she knows how to use one?"

"I'm pretty sure she's seen us use one before, Santana."

"Yeah, but I don't want her killing anyone or getting herself killed," Santana replied. "She's not worth it at all."

The boy in the passenger's seat scoffed. "_Yeah, we know_."

The Latina turned her head towards Kurt. "Shut your ass up, Lady Hummel."

Brittany really appreciated Santana standing up for her when it came to the gun situation. They really had to get out of there then, and Brittany was terrified to the bone when Blaine had made her take control of the gun. Like Santana said, she didn't even know how to use it, whether she saw Blaine, Santana, and Kurt with one or not.

Then again, a part of Santana confused Brittany. She was defending her and everything…but was denying the fact that she actually wanted to have something with her, like Santana quipped about Blaine and Kurt. Brittany also appreciated that Santana called her _friend_; she was the first person Brittany had as a friend. She wouldn't talk at those people in the orphanage and play with any of them. She wasn't allowed to leave the house when she lived with her mother and father.

Brittany thought about all of this as Santana stroked her ponytail once again, the Latina eventually taking it down and making a skinny braid on the back of her head. Did Santana really like her like that? Or was she actually straight? These two questions stirred through Brittany's mind. She's never had anything with a female – not even her own mother, whom Brittany assumed that was going to rape her like her dad did.

Behind her, Santana had finished making the skinny braid and started putting her hair in a ponytail again. She thought about what Blaine said. She didn't know what she liked, to tell the truth. She's never kissed anyone or was attracted to anyone in her life. If she had gone to high school, she could've found some hot football jock or a sexy basketball player – anyone that had a hot set of abs and treated her like a princess.

She never had the idea of liking girls before, either. She knew boys liking boys existed – especially after watching Kurt all this time – but girls like other girls? She didn't understand what that felt like. And even if she did, she wouldn't even know if Brittany would be up for it. She was always vulnerable, and the haunting memory of her father stuck with her for so many years. She probably wouldn't even want to have sex with anyone ever again.

She wasn't going to have her feel that way anymore. She wanted to care for her as if she was her little sister. She cared so much for her; she didn't want her to die or get arrested. She, if not the rest of the gang, had to make it out of this cruel world and make something wonderful of herself. She was shy and stuff, but there had to be something she could do to succeed. Maybe she could be an artist; she loved to draw and stuff.

There had to be something; Santana will find out sooner or later.

* * *

"So now what?"

The four were sitting out in the yard were they watched the moon's reflection shine in the water. The moon itself was bright and beautiful that night. They hardly saw the moon like this out there. And the stars – they were even better. They were individually twinkling and making constellations in the sky.

The four didn't know what they were going to do. They got a mattress and some new clothes, making sure they didn't ruin them so they could last longer. They had gotten box loads of sandwiches from a market before they made it home, hoping that they'll last enough so they can eat for the next two or three days – maybe longer. They opened one box, and ate a sandwich each, along with the pop and chips they stole.

While he ate, Blaine looked ahead at the water. It was so still and beautiful. He imagined swimming in it one day, and feeling the cold all over his body. He wanted to actually _learn_ to swim. His mother and father never taught him before they died.

His mom and dad. He started thinking about them dearly. He knows that he's been a terrible person these couple of days. They probably saw everything he's done while they rested in peace somewhere. They would've abandoned him for life if they found out he did that.

He didn't want to think about his parents right now. This was a calm moment, that time to feel safe and sound as the moon shone over them for light and protection. Maybe there was something else he could think about.

"I could tell you guys a story," he spoke up.

No one really said anything. Kurt just laid down on the green grass after taking a sip of his pop, putting some chips in his mouth and chewing on them. Santana shrugged, allowing Brittany to rest her head on her shoulder. They both still ate their sandwiches and looked up at the moon.

Blaine wasn't sure if he should tell it anymore. Everyone was so quiet, almost tired. They seemed like they just wanted to sleep out here and do nothing else. Blaine couldn't lie, though; he was tired, too. He had been driving all day, and the last thing he wanted to do was just sit around and bore himself.

Just as he was going to lay in the grass, Santana spoke up. "What happened, Medusa?" the girl asked. "What happened to that story of yours?"

"Oh, so that was a yes?"

Santana shrugged again. "Uh, yes."

"I could've at least gotten a confirmation."

"You've got one," she replied. "Now hurry up before I change my mind."

All three started laying in the grass, looking up at the cloudless skies and the big, bright moon. Blaine thought of all the possible story ideas that swam through his mind.

"Okay, what about this?" he spoke up, still thinking of details. "There once was a boy named John. He lived on a grassy hill in a nice, big house with his mother, father, and older brother, Matthew –"

"Is this like one of those fairy tales with the fairy godmothers and the pumpkin carriages?" Santana asked before Blaine could go any further. "I'm starting to get sick of those."

"Trust me; it's not. Those are always ridiculous and fake."

Santana nodded. "My point exactly."

Blaine brought back his train of thought into the story. "He lived in a nice house with a nice family, but a few things in his life were missing," he continued. "He was close to graduating from college, and he didn't know what he wanted to do when he got out."

"Go on," the brunette interrupted again.

"Once he did graduate, he looked for job offers in the newspaper. He thought of every possible occupation he could pursue. He thought about being an author, but he wasn't a man of words. He thought about being a teacher, but he couldn't handle the pressure of little kids."

Brittany was chewing on her sandwich and listening to Blaine's story, her eyes fixed on the sky and the twinkling stars. Santana shook her head and whispered to her, "_You definitely don't want to be that. Trust me._"

"Then, he figured it out, just as he watched a little musical called _Wicked_. He watched as the performers acted, sung, and danced their feet away. It was so fun and interesting. He wanted that dream, that dream to go out to Broadway, Hollywood – anywhere where he'd be known for an excellent, artistic talent."

Kurt was still on the grass, listening to Blaine's story. One thing ran through his mind: how Blaine was able to understand how he was feeling, and they never even talked about what they wanted to do in the future. Kurt wanted that same dream Blaine's fictional character wanted. Kurt felt like he was acting in Blaine's story – no, wait, it was _real_! He wanted to head on to Broadway ever since he was at that orphanage.

How the hell was Blaine reading his mind? He seemed so clever, but Kurt never knew he was that clever enough to reach into Kurt's mind.

And other than that, he was so creative with his words and his overall story. He couldn't have done it better.

"So after he was known for the New York Theater Group's version of _West Side Story_," Blaine continued, "he traveled New York City for the first time, people waving at him and acknowledging his wonderful work. He was the most unique thing New York has ever had."

Kurt didn't know if Blaine was thinking about him or not, but he sure did feel like he was.

"One afternoon, he was offered a role in a movie called _The Other Side of Everything_, and he was practicing his lines and getting ready to make it on set," Blaine continued. "Before John got there, he ran into someone on his run into the building. John was almost startled and worried that he hurt him, but then was drawn away from the world by his Glasz eyes –"

Santana was snickering off the side somewhere. "_I knew it_," she whispered to Brittany.

Ignoring the Latina, Blaine looked back at the night sky.

"They promised each other to meet up later on after work. John had finished doing the first few scenes of his movie, and met the boy at a local Starbucks. Jerry, the guy he ran into, told him everything about himself. He's starting off his journey as a performer. He'll sing in coffee shops and dance in a studio with a professional dancer."

Kurt turned his head to Blaine. He had some sort of connection with the moon, stars, and night sky. He was connected with something Kurt could almost put his finger on. _Was…was Blaine actually gay?_ He told his story like he was. He kept mentioning this John and Jerry person admiring their appearances and such.

"After that day at Starbucks, they spent every moment together, becoming really wonderful friends," Blaine went on. "Then one day, John got an offer to do another movie down in Hollywood, California. That would mean that he would have to leave Jerry for good. He really wanted this, but he didn't want to leave behind…the one he loves."

Brittany inched a little closer to Santana, thinking about all of the details in his story. If she were in Jerry's place, she definitely wouldn't want Santana to leave her – well, in a friend's standpoint. She was pretty sure Santana wouldn't do it, either – or was she?

"John called Hollywood and turned down the offer, in a rush to find Jerry. Before he even went out the door of his house, Jerry showed up. He came up to John's face and kissed him, adding pressure to his lips. He begged for him to stay with him. John said yes, and they hugged everything out."

Kurt's eyes bugged out of his head. This story got interesting to him as it went on. The kissing part sent shivers down from his light head through his arms and down to his stretched-out legs.

"Jerry had been gone to a studio session with one of New York's famous recording studio guys, when John showed up desperately. He pulled him out to talk, and gave a long speech, which went like this," Blaine continued, and he thought of everything this fictional character would say.

"_Jerry, you are the love of my life; you're more than everything I expected when I met you. The way your hair is set, the way you voice sounds, the way you move your body, and the way you consider my feelings as well as others. I would have never asked God for anything more. You're the lullaby that puts me to sleep every night, the bright sun that wakes me in the morning. You're the wheels on my feet that keep me going each day. You're the tissues and shoulder to cry on when I'm having a bad day. If I didn't have you, I would be lost. If I can't have you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I want you in my life, Jerry, and all you have to say is yes._"

Blaine sighed, still looking up at the sky. "And then he gets down on one knee and pops the question. _Jerry, will you marry me?_"

Kurt's eyes had fluttered shut at the start of the speech he imagined in his mind. It was so beautiful. He never knew Blaine had that much heart in his stories. Kurt hoped that one day, he'll find that one person like Blaine described and propose like that – or _be_ proposed, perhaps.

"And with that, they both got married in a little chapel, both with successful careers, raising a young boy, and leading happy, wonderful lives."

By the time he had finished his story, he looked around. Brittany had a little water in her eyes, smiling and still looking up at the night sky. Santana hugged her tightly, showing that same exact smile. They both seemed to be satisfied with the story, even if it was two gay guys.

Blaine turned to Kurt. He stared into the sky, his thoughts still on Blaine's story. He never knew he could come up with something that sent him into outer space like that.

Satisfied that everyone seemed happy, Blaine laid back on the grass, taking one last glance at the sky before shutting his eyes.


End file.
